#charlotte grant imagines

[yeeterthek33per]

Bittersweet Days (Charlie Grant x Reader)

A/n Requested

Warnings: a little bit of smut at the end. I've marked the section with a star so y'all can skip it if you so wish but marked the kind of end, so y'all could read the last bitty bit, so warning, teeny mention of nudity in the last of it.

Your chest is heaving as you grab one of the blue bottles from the drinks crate, squirting a stream of water into your mouth.

The subs along the line handing the current lineup their bottles during the injury check.

"I swear to fucking god, they're firing on all cylinders tonight, Asllani is on my ass like she's glued to it. I can't focus and I can't mark her either."

The game hadn't been going well. Sweden suddenly picked up the pace like they had fire lit under their asses and Sam was now down with a leg tweak after a challenge from Eriksson.

It didn't help the referee didn't do shit about it for a whole minute. Even Eriksson and Mušović were going the ref about her taking so long to call it.

Charlie hands you a sweat towel and takes the bottle from your hands when you offer it.

"Don't let her get in your head. She's just trying to pick apart the midfield. She's already gotten into it with Mini. Don't bite the bait. Stand your ground, but don't bother trying to chase her around. She's not the one you need to keep an eye on."

"Rolfö is being the biggest pain in the ass to mark. There's no way our backline can keep up with her. Hunty is the only one who can even block her from that side. Ellie's getting drawn out way too quickly, and I have to back track, and it's leaving Asllani open. It's like we're panicking."

You shake your head. What a way to celebrate your anniversary.

Charlie takes the towel from your hands as well and moves to hold your shoulders so you can sit still for a moment, ever eager to get back out on the pitch.

"Babe, you know how to keep the midfield locked, talk to Ellie, she needs you to keep her in line. If she goes, Clare covers, not you. You have to cover the top of the box, you know this." You nod, grabbing the bottle to take one last drink and Tony signals you over.

"Talk to Mini in that midfield. She can cover Asllani, but not while she's playing the way she is. She's getting pushy, and Mini is biting easier by the minute. I might have to pull Sam here, so I'm looking at Chids to replace her. She'll cover where you and Mini can't. Look for the lines, follow your lines, L/n, you got this." He claps you on the back, and you give him a tight nod.

As Sam gets walked off and you all return to the pitch, there's a higher tension in the air than before. Everything just stops functioning. It's like nobody listened, and Sweden is just blocking everything that gets sent in. Sam isn't coping, and she can't meet any headers despite insisting to Tony to let her go back on.

Alex is subbed on for Polky, but she isn't given the time or ability to get much done. Why would he push her there? Their backline won't allow for her style of play there.

In the end, it's just frustrating, and the exhaustion is setting in faster than every other match. Steph is trying to keep the backline in form, but running a full marathon at the World Cup isn't doing her legs any good either.

In the end, the moment the whistle blows at the end of the game. You all just collapse to the pitch. You'd all pushed for effort after effort, but nothing broke through. In the end, the Swedes emerge victorious.

Everything kind of just crumbles down. Sam collapses to the pitch, Steph is already on the ground by the technical lines where Tony is, who's still arguing with the ref. Lord knows why.

The man's patience when it came to terrible reffing ran about as deep as the hole you wanted to dig yourself into.

Everything hurt. Your heart, your head, your lungs, your legs. It all felt like a slap that your grandkids would feel. Like it made your father turn over in his grave.

You felt the pats on the back from some of your teammates and some from Sweden as well.

You push yourself up, legs shaky and muscles screaming at you. You go find Sam, giving her shoulder a quick pat as you kneel in front of her.

"Hey, c'mon cap, that's gotta be hurting your ass. Up we come." You pull her up and wrap your arms around her, and she just grunts and just about leans fully into you.

You walk her over to the bench, arm around her shoulder, and give her a few back pats and a shoulder squeeze, mumbling words of consolation to her.

She doesn't say much, and you leave her with a small kiss to the temple.

Charlie is the first to approach you, having spotted your hunched form and slow limping steps. You can tell she's holding back a lot more than she feels comfortable with. The tears peeking out of the corners of her eyes, and the red of her face make it obvious to you.

"Hey baby, I'm so proud of you."

You bury your nose into her neck the moment she has you wrapped up in her arms. Her hand sits at the back of your neck, squeezing at it slightly, and her other rubs circles into your shoulder blades.

You lean into her slightly, feeling your legs wanting to give out on you, and she quickly moves her arms around your waist to hold you.

You whimper, feeling your knee start to twinge more now that you aren't running on adrenaline. You'd done it in about six months ago, but the pain never fully went away, even after months of physio.

You just stubbornly chose to ignore it after not being able to play and worrying it would cost you your career.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart. It's just a little bit longer, and then we can go back and just stay in for as long as we like."

Charlie only knew because she caught you spraying the crap out of it one day with deepheat after a particularly bad training session, and the cold was starting to set in on it.

"Sorry, I know this isn't exactly the present you wanted for our fourth anniversary." You say half jokingly, and she just gives you a watery laugh, shaking her head.

"Honey, I got my present a month ago when we stepped onto the pitch together before the game in Sydney. That's all I've ever wanted."

Tears only pour harder. "We were so close, though. I could've played harder, I could've done something about that damned midfielder."

"She was just so much more physical than either of you or Mini were prepared for. There's nothing you could've done without injuring yourself or the other player."

"Me losing out on my knee would have been worth it if we had made history."

Her hands grab your face at that, bringing you to look her in the eye.

"No, it's not because we already did that. Because you already helped do that. You putting yourself out permanently should never happen for a piece of metal that will get covered in beer and put on a hook to get dusty inside a display cabinet. You are worth so much more than that. Don't ever put yourself or your career down for that."

"But-"

"No. You've worked so hard to get here. You put your knee on the line just to make the team. It's time to rest. It's okay to need a break. It's okay to say you've done everything you could. It's okay that you couldn’t force yourself to do the impossible. You gave everything, and that's what matters. Sometimes, stuff happens, and you end up outclassed."

You huff a sigh, sniffling lightly. Then slowly nod.

"Okay, okay, I see your point."

She caresses your face.

"Good. I love you."

You give what you can of a smile.

"I love you too."

----------------------

Upon return to the hotel, you're all invited for an afterparty and taking the opportunity to let off some steam, you all accept.

You half collapse on the bed in your room while waiting for the bathroom to empty so you can shower properly.

A thought comes to mind. Why hadn't you planned anything more for today?

Charlie woke you up with flowers and delivered (pre approved) breakfast. She snuck you extra coffee in the morning every day. She made sure you had your gear back clean and organised and folded while dealing with everything she needed to do as a player.

She'd made sure you both had the night together last night.

Hell, she made you laugh in one of the most heartbreaking settings a player can go through at a World Cup even though she barely got minutes on the field herself.

What had you done?

Given her a heart attack when you went down and played one game together, that and a terrible apology earlier after the game.

After chatting with Mini, Kyra, and Harper, though try as she might, little Harper wasn't as much help as the other two, you set up a roof top date, rented out one of the top suites in the hotel for the night and promised Tony more media duty for the next month than the whole team combined in exchange for the night off.

So that's where you decide you have to do something.

----------------------

You arranged a little food delivery, snuck out to drop by a few stores, and bought some last-minute flower arrangements and a few packets of rose petals.

You also stopped by a jewellery store to pick up a necklace you knew she'd been looking at while you were out on the team morning walk.

Now, you just had to convince Charlie to stay in with you without it being suspicious.

With it being about thirty minutes before the team was set to leave, you knock on the door to the room Charlie shared with Kyra, ignoring your muscles screaming at you after you'd told Charlie you'd still go with her to the afterparty.

She looked like she didn't quite believe you, and questioned your pain level but you insisted you were fine and that you were happy to go out, knowing she needed to have something to do other than the usual team stuff.

Kyra opens the door, but the moment she spots you, and you give her a nod, she turns back to Charlie. "Hey Cha Cha, your girl's here."

Charlie looks up, a smile gracing her lips but mild confusion joining it.

"I thought we were meeting down at the bus."

You shake your head, immediately having to go over the plan in your head again.

Everything was making you nervous at this point, but you had to fight for your life to not let any nervous tics show. Lord knows your girlfriend would spot them in a heartbeat.

"Actually, change of plans. I convinced Tony to let us skip and found a really nice place for us to go for dinner. I know we haven't had too much time together lately, aside from last night, which I wanted to thank you for."

Charlie's expression softens, and she hops up to come over to you, immediately pulling you in for a tight hug.

"Baby, you don't have to thank me for anything, I'm more than glad for any time we spend together. Saying that, I will take you up on that offer."

You grin and let your lips meet hers for a moment. Of course, you hear a gagging noise from Kyra.

"You two are so sweet, it's actually fucking gross."

Charlie rolls her eyes and turns back to you, arms still around you.

"Come back in about twenty and we can go?"

"Fifteen, I have to show you something first."

"Baby, c'mon, you know my makeup takes forever, twenty, please?"

She bats her eyelashes at you, and you roll your eyes lovingly and peck her lips.

"Fine, twenty."

"Whipped."

"Shut the fuck up, Kyra."

----------------------

"Okay, when you said you were showing me something, I didn't think you meant breaking onto the roof. Why are we coming up this way anyway? You're gonna get us both in trouble."

You seemingly don't hear her protests as you both walk down the hallway to the roof access.

"Seriously, I love you, but now is not the time to fulfil your 'sex under the stars' fantasy."

You roll your eyes and open the door, and start to ascend the steps. She's looking around nervously at the security cameras and nearly stops behind you.

"Y/n, seriously, you're gonna get us into shit with the hotel. We can't be up here. I love you, but why are you bringing me into this again?"

You stop suddenly and turn, grabbing her by the face and kiss her.

"Because you love me, and you follow me anywhere."

She groans, knowing full well she can't argue with you. As much as she vehemently denies it and gets teased for it, she'd follow you off a cliff or into outer space if she had to choose.

You continue up the steps, and when you reach the door to the roof, you step aside and gesture for her to go through first.

"Ladies first."

She huffs at you and moves around you to open the door.

"You're such a little shit, honestly."

Hand to your chest, you gasp softly.

"You wound me." It's said with a teasing smile.

The moment she opens the door, she freezes, tears coming to her eyes.

The roof is set out with an outdoor garden and a pergola with vines wrapping the wood. However, a white clothed table sat directly in the middle, a longer one off to the side with shared dishes that you both love and miss having now that you're away at the World Cup.

The ground and the tables are sprinkled with rose petals, and there's various vases of flowers around.

She realizes now why you'd been so insistent, and when she turns back to you, she can see only pure love and admiration radiating back at her.

The suit you were wearing was perfectly fitted, and it seems the moment she looked away, you'd clipped a small rose to your pocket.

Charlie has to tilt her head back slightly to avoid letting the tears ruin her makeup.

"Happy Anniversary, my love."

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she looks back at you, fighting off tears.

"Baby, did you really do all this?"

You give her a shy smile, running your hand through your hair.

"It was last minute, but lately, you've been doing so much for me, and for us as a couple, I had to do something. I love you and appreciate you so much, and I won't ever feel like I'm doing enough for what you deserve. I'd give you the world if I could."

She laughs and grabs you by the hands to pull you closer.

"God, I love you so much. You're doing so much more than you'll ever know. Happy anniversary. Thank you for doing this for us."

You smile widely and cup her cheek, giving her a quick kiss and gesture to the table.

"Hungry?"

She looks over at the food on the table set out for you and nods quickly.

"You got me my favourite comfort foods. Hell yes, I'm hungry."

You chuckle, and you both dish up from the transportable warmers.

You settle down to eat, chatting about the day and looking back on some fond memories from your early days.

"I can't believe I let you sign me up for a whole go-karting season. As fun as that was, you drive really weirdly dangerous compared to how you drive a regular car."

"Do not, I'm just free spirited when I'm in a mini race car, that's all."

"Baby, you intentionally sent someone off the track because they nudged me trying to go around me."

"That was a fair response. Thank you very much. He was an asshole and he was pretty much fine after anyway"

"The poor guy ended up with a broken arm."

You go silent for a second, and Charlie has an amused look on her face.

"But.. he tried to take you out, it was only fair." You pout.

"Yeah, but baby, you got us banned from that go-karting place for life. I'm 90 percent sure they blacklisted you, too."

"Look, I'm just saying Rich asshole wants to lay wheels on my girl. He ain't walking away without a few scars, okay? Plus, it's better than that time you got us kicked from Paintballing."

"They should've kept their dicks in their pants."

"Clearly, they had to, considering you shot all of them in the crotch."

"Their problem for not wearing the supplied crotch guards."

"Yes, and the instructor was clearly impressed with that effort."

"I did try to tell him they wouldn't stop flirting with you, so they needed a reality check. Plus, I did just say it wasn't intentionally aimed that way while we were fighting."

"They were your teammates. We were on opposite sides of the course."

Charlie pouts and moves around her food slightly.

"Still didn't stop them from trying to get your number at the end of it. I saw you giving something to them by the way."

You raise your hands slightly in mock surrender.

"I may or may not have given them the number to that radio station that broadcasts all the creepy voicemails and texts they get from guys who purposefully get given the wrong number."

Her eyes crinkle with laughter as tries to cover the sound, the melodious noise making your heart warm. You could listen to it all day, every day.

"Oh god, please tell me you've got the broadcast somewhere."

"Maybe. It requires payment for viewing though."

Charlie raises a brow at you. "Yeah?"

You tilt your head playfully. "Yeah, sorry baby, only acceptable payments are kisses."

She hums, nodding.

"Remind me later and I'll take you up on that offer."

"Aw, no fun." You pout softly.

"Baby, we're enjoying the night to ourselves. We have plenty of time for kissing."

"Speaking of, Tony knows we're not gonna be in our rooms tonight."

She tilts her head slightly.

"I may have booked us a room for the night separately."

Her heart absolutely melts at your words, and she wordlessly grabs your hand over the table.

You wiggle your eyebrows. "Wait 'til you see the room."

She giggles softly, shaking her head.

"God, I love you."

Your eyes water, heart beating faster.

"I love you too."

Should this be it? The moment you finally used that damn box that's been tucked under three layers of old socks and giving you a world of anxiety?

Not yet.

The velvet lined case was like lead in your pocket though, and if you didn't do it soon, she'd probably get sick of waiting and do it for you.

You knew she knew you were waiting to propose. She was only waiting for you to do it.

You hold it back and suck back tears before she sees them. You continue eating, and her laughter fills the air as you do everything you can to keep her laughing throughout the night.

Later on, under the caressing melody coming from a speaker you had set out beneath the table, you and Charlie sway together. The moonlight filtering through the vines of the pergola leaves a soft dappled glow across your skin and surrounds.

Your heart flutters as her hands trace the contours of your shoulders before moving back to settle on your neck.

A tender smile tugs at your lips, warmth spreading through you as you feel her fingers play with the hairs at the nape of it.

You can feel the squeeze of your fingers on her waist beneath them, holding her like you never want to let go. Your shared breath intermingles in the space between you, a bridge between your shared love making your heart race.

You take the moment to just ruminate. Your heart replays the moments that have brought you here.

The shared completion of your dreams, the laughter, the moments of disappointment, and the hard times you got stuck in that you had to work out how to navigate.

In all of it, one thing remained consistent.

Charlie.

Your rock. Your love. Your confidant. The person who stood by you at your worst and raised you up at your best. The woman you were so sure couldn't possibly return your feelings just four years ago.

And yet here you were, stood embraced under the moonlit glow of the night, just hours after a fourth place finish at the World Cup.

And yet here you were, holding the love of your life in your hands, her holding you like you'll slip away at a moments notice. That's when you know you're gonna marry this woman.

This beautiful, light, courageous, caring, kind human being was yours.

Her fingers in your hair send shivers down your spine and her lips murmuring sweet nothings to you course through your gut like your blood flows through your veins.

You live in the moment for as long you can before you can tell exhaustion is starting to set in a little between the both of you.

"Come on, love. I can tell you're tiring a bit there. Wanna head in for the night?"

Her lips meet yours softly in a brief but reassuring kiss. "I'm not done with you yet."

Your lips move to her neck with light ghostings across her skin.

"We've got time, baby, all night if you want."

Her sigh and slight head tilt urge you on.

"Lead the way then."

---------------------- **

Under the soft sheets of the bed, you lay propped up on your side, elbow holding your head above the blonde girl beside you, fingers gently tracing her stomach as the breathlessness relaxes into calm once again.

Charlie moves to turn onto her side to face you properly.

"Please tell we didn't let that food go to waste up there?"

Your laugh from there makes her pout slightly.

"I just gave you some of the best three orgasms you've had and your first thought is that?"

Your tone is teasing, and she whines, shoving you lightly.

"I just feel bad is all." You reassure her quickly.

"Don't worry, I made sure my assistants had the food wrapped up and put in storage for now."

"Assistants?" She cocks a brow and you move to straddle her bare waist.

"Yup, my assistants."

"Uhuh, also what makes you think these were the best three orgasms I've had."

You gawk slightly, hands now settling on her ribcage.

"Oh, you've had better have you?"

She braces, slightly hands settling against your wrists, knowing where this is going.

"Mhm, maybe."

Your gleam turns mischievous, and your fingers start to twitch at her sides.

"Is that so?"

Her laughter rings out as you tickle her, squealing slightly and trying to shove your hands away as you relentless torture the poor woman.

"Baby, please! I'm sorry, that was a lie! Please!"

"Oh, was it now? Who gave you the best, huh?"

"You did! you always do, nobody else!"

You slow your ministrations and lean down to take her lips with yours as she calms her breathing again.

"Damn right."

Her breathing turns to soft sighs as you trail your kisses down, resting at her abdomen, tracing the soft lines of her stomach.

It's like everything hits you all at once, the moment she's in your lap, rocking her hips into your hand, your lips trailing up her neck and she breathlessly whimpers your name when your fingers curl inside her.

The moment her legs start to shake and the high of her orgasm reaches, it's out of your lips before you can stop it.

"Marry me."

It catches her off guard, her eyes shooting open slightly as she cries out, clenching around you.

**(if you wanna read the proposal)**

Her breathing calms, and her head moves forward from having been lulled back.

"You wanna repeat that?" It's not said with anger, only a soft undertone of surprise.

Your cheeks turn red at that. You mutter it again.

"Please marry me?"

You don't expect the soft laugh that accompanies it.

"Baby, that was the most unorthodox way you could have proposed."

The tips of your ears are now burning too, and you turn your head slightly to avoid her gaze but she grabs your face and kisses you hard.

"God, yes, I'll marry you."

You grin hard and kiss her again.

You pull away, slipping out from under her to grab your discarded suit pants from the floor, digging out the box.

A soft sigh, leaving your lips as you, still naked, lower yourself to your good knee.

"I was planning on doing it after dinner, but I half chickened out, and now I'm doing this. I wanted to give you a proper proposal, one that you deserve and one that'll you'll remember for the rest of our lives. While the second half may be true, I'm disappointed for not doing it earlier."

She moves to the edge of the bed, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.

"I love you so much. You've been there for me when I wouldn't let anyone else in. You've been my rock, my whole world. You supported me when I was ready to give up. You've lifted me up when we've both been triumphant and you've given me every bit of your heart you could and I love you so much for it and I want, if you'll let me, to spend the rest of our lives repaying it by giving the same back to you."

You pop open the ring box.

"Charlotte Layne Grant. Will you do the honour of making the happiest woman in Brisbane, Australia, and marry me?"

Her laugh is choked up with soft sobs as she nods. "Of course I'll fucking marry you."

Her hands pull you up onto the bed again, kissing you hard and you catch yourself from falling onto her entirely, ringbox still in hand.

You pull away just enough, tears now streaming down your own face, too.

You show her the ring, and she finally gets a glimpse of it. It's a custom, rose gold ring with roses and a deep set diamond with two rubies set on either side at the top. There's also something engraved on the inside.

The moment she reads the inscription, she covers her mouth to stop her sobs.

You look at her worried.

"Is it okay? Are you okay? I didn't know if-"

She tackles you back onto the mattress, and you nearly fall off the bed entirely, just barely managing to catch yourselves.

"I love it, it's perfect."

On the inside, it says.

"To my love, my life, Charlotte Layne Grant-L/n"

"May you forever shine at your brightest, my superstar."

You help her slip the ring on, and her arms immediately wrap around your neck, and you bury your face in her hair, just sitting and holding her.

You finally did it.

You're marrying your superstar.

----------------------

#charlotte grant x reader #charlotte grant imagine #charlotte grant imagines #charlie grant x reader #charlie grant imagines #charlie grant imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso #woso imagine

[totaly-obsessed]

Charlotte Grant Appreciation

woso appreciation masterlist | with @alotofpockets

#woso #woso imagine #woso appreciation #matildas x reader #matildas #tillies #charli grant #charlotte grant #charli #tottenham women #tottenham hotspur #spurs women #auswnt #auswnt x reader

[lifesizehysteria]

Tending a Garden in Bloom | A Violet Bridgerton Fic

Fandom: Queen Charlotte/Bridgerton (TV)

Rating: M

Summary: A one-shot of self-discovery and sexual re-awakening

A/N: There was going to be a part one to this in which Violet processes her grief and confusion about moving on from Edmund in her sexual reawakening that was based on that small scene in episode 5 of Queen Charlotte where we see her alone in bed. Unfortunately, I just was never able to capture it the way I wanted, and decided to go ahead and publish this on its own. Perhaps I'll be able to get it right in the future, but for now I'm happy with this. I fell in love with Violet's sexual reawakening and the complicated feelings that must come with it, and wanted to explore that without throwing her into relationship. This one-shot is the result of where I thought the private discussion between Violet and Lady Danbury at the exhibition was going to lead, but even though the show didn't go there, I still felt compelled to give it to Violet, anyway.

~

Violet stared up at the canopy above her bed, her blankets pulled up to her chin while the dwindling fire cut dancing shadows into the sapphire blue glow of the moon. Lady Danbury’s words still echoed in her mind, hours since leaving the exhibition.

It is alright to want it. 

It felt like a revelation. Permission she had not yet been able to grant herself. She loved Edmund, and she always would. As long as she lived and for eternity after. However, loving him did not keep her from being lonely, and remaining devoted to a man who was no longer able to return her love only made her loneliness inevitable, and utterly inescapable. It was her who remained. Her who walked the earth, living, breathing… wanting.

Sunlight. 

Air.

Touch. 

She closed her eyes. Images from the exhibition conjured before her—bodies lounging, open and bare, limbs tangling together, and hands. So many hands… 

At the time, surrounded by the crowd and still clinging to denial about her feelings, she had refused to allow her imagination to wander beyond the static figures. Now, she made no such effort. They came to life before her and she watched, enraptured, as two lovers moved together, consumed entirely by one another. As their passion reached its climax, her own heartbeat quickened in her chest, and she threw the blanket off of herself, sure she would overheat despite the chill in the air.

She tried to think of something else, anything else, but her mind was persistent. For weeks prior she had been desperately avoiding it, because if she did not think about it, she could not want it. But now that she had thought about it, and she did want it, imagining it was not enough. Quite the opposite, in fact. She needed more. She needed to feel it. She needed…

Featherlight, she touched the backs of her fingers to her cheek; it was hot beneath them. She turned over her hand, feeling the pressure against her face as she leaned into her palm. It wasn’t quite the same as being touched by another, but still, it made her skin tingle. She dragged her fingers over her lips, and down the length of her neck. At the base, she could feel the rapid pulse of her heart when her finger slipped into the hollow spot there. It beat harder when she imagined lips being pressed against it. She let her mind dwell there—lifting her chin and extending her neck, feeling her belly tighten at the thought of being kissed. She wished she could remember what it felt like, but she had pushed those memories away for so long that her body had not stored them. Now, for the first time since she lost Edmund, desire coursed through her, and she wanted to remember it. She wanted to remember everything.

She raked her fingernails gently across her chest, one finger dipping just below her neckline. Her hands slid down over her bosom and across her stomach, gripping the cotton of her nightdress as she pressed her fingers down into her belly beneath. It was soft from age and growing babies, but also sensitive, twitching beneath the slight roughness of the fabric. When her hands continued lower, she pulled her knees up, causing the hem of her nightdress to fall into a pile around her hips. As she slid her hands up towards her knees, she squeezed her thighs together, tightening her inner muscles against the pulse that had so persistently ached there. Of course, that only resulted in it pulsing even harder.

With her knees pressed together as tightly as her eyes were closed, Violet inhaled slowly. It felt like she was standing at the doorway to the future, but was unable to open it and take the first step over the threshold. She could stop. She could lock that door and remain where she had been all those years…

It is alright to want it.

She did want it. She wanted it so desperately that she was sure her want would burn her up from the inside out if she did not satisfy it. Touch. That was what she craved. A lifetime had passed since she had felt the touch of another, since she had felt another’s flesh against her own, and although she had thought she would never have such desire again, now she wanted, more desperately than she had wanted anything in a very long time, to be touched. 

Violet opened her eyes. Looking down over the curves and slopes of her body, she took another deep breath before letting her knees fall open. She slid her hand down the inside of her thigh. Her skin was smooth and supple beneath her fingers. Pausing when her hand reached her mound of curls, she hovered for a moment before slipping her fingers, shaking slightly, down into the folds beneath. 

She explored tentatively, reacquainting herself with the feeling after not being touched there for so long. She had never done anything like this before. Everything was slick and warm and soft, and just the light pressure of her fingertips made her ache for more.

Her fingers moved instinctively towards the source of her pulsing need. She thought it might be difficult to find, since she’d never touched it herself and only had her memories of Edmund doing so to guide her. However, she knew she’d found it when her breath caught in her throat from the sensation. Sliding her finger over it again sent a ripple of pleasure up through her body. She licked her lips, catching her bottom one with her teeth to keep herself silent as she did it a third time and her toes curled into the mattress.

It felt as if that one tiny spot was connected to every nerve in her body. She moved her fingers across it in various directions, until finally determining that slow, rhythmic circles were most pleasurable. 

For a moment, as the sensation deepened and began to spread, Violet wondered if it was improper, which caused a flutter of anxiety to tighten in her chest. It was not as though she was a virgin, some unmarried young girl who knew not of marital relations. Her husband had touched her this way. It had never felt improper then. Of course, that had been intimacy between a man and his wife, and this was… Well, she didn’t know what this was, but if it was alright for a husband to do it, then surely it was not so different for her to do it herself. Besides, it felt good. So good, in fact, she believed that stopping now might cause her, quite literally, to perish.

She pushed the thought aside. It did not matter. What mattered was the way her skin burned as if she laid bare beneath the high summer sun. How her breathing turned to gasps like rushing wind through her parted lips. How every stroke of her fingers washed over her like lapping waves at high tide. 

Sunlight. 

Air.

Touch. 

She pressed her hips down harder against her hand, intensifying the sensation until her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and her legs began to twitch. She could feel herself building towards an edge that had once been so familiar, but now felt strange and new. Her heart beat like a storm against her chest. She grasped at her pillow, turning her face into it to muffle the cries she was unable to contain any longer. Pressure built until her back arched and white-hot lightning streaked through her body while she crashed like thunder over the edge, feeling as if she had become one with the heavens. 

She felt herself sink back down into her trembling body, and for a moment, she didn’t dare move. Her chest heaved with every breath, and her limbs felt both weightless and leaden as the tension melted out of them. After another minute, she straightened one leg and turned her hips so her other leg fell over it, her knee resting against the mattress. Her nightdress was still gathered in a pool around her hips. Unwilling to let go of the moment just yet, she laid with her eyes closed, listening to her barely slowing heartbeat rush in her ears while relishing in the sense of relief. Physical, yes, but also more than that. She hadn’t known it was possible, that she could do that herself. For weeks she had been tortured by desire, wrestling with guilt and confusion because she thought that the only way to satisfy that unrelenting need was to remarry, or, heaven help her, take a lover. But now… This discovery that she could satisfy her own physical needs granted her the precious gift of freedom. Freedom to make the decision that was right for her, on her own time, without fear that her physical desires would rush her into a choice she would later come to regret. 

She was not yet ready to consider another marriage. Violet had known great love, and she did not take for granted the blessing it had been, nor was she foolish enough to believe she could ever find another like it again. The most she would hope for from another marriage would be companionship, and even with the kindest man, marriage would undoubtedly bring significant change, and loss of control that she was not sure she wanted. Aside from this most recent development, her life was rich and full, and she was quite happy.  On the other hand, taking a lover certainly had its advantages, allowing her life to remain virtually unchanged. However, as a woman, especially one of her status, it required secrecy that came with great risk and potential for scandal that could lead to ruin for not only her but for her entire family. 

Now she had the freedom not to choose until she was ready, or in fact, not at all. She could go on with life as it already was and, at the very least, have her most urgent physical needs satiated. She did think she would want more in time. Even now, she still ached to feel another’s touch—to be held, to be kissed, to be desired. But knowing she didn’t have to choose, and that her mind was finally clear enough for her to trust her own judgment, was immensely freeing. 

Turning onto her side toward the fire, she nestled down into her pillow, feeling practically giddy. She did not know what the future held in store for her, but as she considered the possibilities, she had to cover the grin growing across her face as mirth bubbled out into laughter. One thing was for sure. Whatever else happened, it seemed she would be taking up gardening, because Violet was most certainly in bloom. 

#violet bridgerton #bridgerton #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #queen charlotte fanfiction #bridgerton fic #queen Charlotte fic #written by lifesizehysteria #fanfiction #yikes i am so nervous posting something for this fandom

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

you and Vinelle have talked various times about the vampires being a violent species, many of them not surviving the first year etc. and take this for example as an argument for Carlisle having a gift, that he survived so long on his own

Why exactly do you think that? Cuz I reread Eclipse and Jasper tells Bella that Peter and Charlotte didn't get in any fights in the 5 years after they left the newborn army, even though they met tons of others

Was Jasper sugarcoating for Bella? I thought maybe Peter and Charlotte were similary scarred like Jasper is and other vampires were too afraid to try to fight them, but neither Bella in Breaking Dawn nor Edward in Midnight Sun mention this

Honestly, from what we see in all other circumstances, yes he was sugar coating or more accurately... not getting into nuances with Bella who wouldn't appreciate them.

Remember the time that the Cullens meet Victoria, Laurent, and James. Granted, they had Bella with them, but the situation is immediately tense on both sides. There's discussion on whether or not they've been eating in the Cullen territory.

I think that's probably how it goes for meeting most vampires. There's a song and dance where you assure whoever you're meeting that you're a) not a threat and b) not interested in their hunting grounds. Sometimes this goes well for you, sometimes it may not.

I'm sure Charlotte and Peter though were amazed in that it never broke out into a fight, where in the newborn armies this would have been a death sentence.

It was markedly better than before, but on the other hand there don't seem to be that many nomadic covens in North America (can't be or the death rate in Twilight would be through the roof) and as a result they're not having the same fights for territory.

I read that as Peter and Charlotte going "Wow, we met five whole people and none of them murdered us". And those five people... may or may not be alive by the time Breaking Dawn rolls around. In fact, I imagine most of the people they met at the time are now dead either from breaking the law and getting the axe from the Volturi or making an enemy of the wrong nomad/coven in and of themselves.

The vampires we meet in Breaking Dawn, Bella never got to see those who said "no" to coming and never did the recruitment speech herself. Bella sees the ones who already agreed to come and even then there was some anxiety about hunting grounds and what they might think of the wolves/Renesmee when they saw her up close.

The reason we noted Carlisle's situation as weird is he a) traveled much further than most vampires and b) acted fucking weird and tried to get them on a diet that sounds a lot like "poison yourself, it'll be a great time I promise!". That's a great thing to say to people who suspect you of being a thief the moment you enter their house.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #meta #headcanon #opinion

[faustinio27]

Eagles don't belong in cage (HL fic)

Summary: Orphaned since birth, Faustine escapes her dull everyday life with fantasy books. As she dreams of magic, her wish may be granted, for better… and for worse.

Warnings: child abuse, violence

MC is my character, Faustine Daemon. You can find more info about her here. This fic is her backstory and takes place before she joined Hogwarts

A BIG thanks to @alsopartgekkos who has been my beta reader (and moral support) from start to finish 🫶

“I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage : a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there ; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.” -Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

Faustine no longer believed in God.

Hands clasped, head bowed, body bent on a bench in silent prayer to a crucifix.

A quick glance while everyone is busy: same people, same poses, same eyes closed in reverence. Some murmuring prayers. Others are so bent double that knees touch faces.

She wasn’t the only one without faith, was she? 

A question burned inside her mouth: Faustine tried to find the answer in someone else's face so many times. Tried to decipher every furrowed brow and wrinkle, every movement of the lips. Maybe it’s just her, really. Maybe she should not blame others for choosing otherwise. To get through life, some people clung to God.

Faustine, on the other hand, preferred imagination.

Her gaze shifted to the high ceiling and followed familiar gothic arches, descending into pillars. Her favorite stained glass windows depicting the flight of a white dove reflected the rays of the morning sun in a harmonising blend of blue, red and yellow. A splash of colour in the dull reality of an orphanage. But it’s only a moment before suffocation, when her eyes linger on Christ's pain-stricken face depicted on each mosaic.

No one has to know she lost faith now.

Or maybe it's already happened long ago. Maybe she lulled herself in promises of a wonder, but the years went by without a miracle. They say you always have to believe in Him. A question dances on the tip of her tongue like a sin.

Did He ever believe in her?

Her mind sought to wander beyond the walls, leaving the confines of the church for the little paths of the garden, the busy city. In her daydream, Faustine passed a shop window: her reflection dressed in one of these luxurious gowns, dazzled with beauty a little more with each step, so light that she seemed to fly, moved like a ballet dancer on an imaginary stage. She reached Big Ben, overlooking London in all its splendor and a pair of black wings materialized on her back, feathers twirling. Effortlessly, Faustine flew up to admire the city: passers-by not bigger than little ants, staring at her with amazement and admiration. She smiled, before soaring even higher into the sky, caressing the fluffy clouds, waving to the thousand-colored birds. Pure air entered her nostrils, allowing to breathe deeper. Her numb limbs waited to expand, again and again, until she reached the night sky. The moon was right in front of her, huge and softly shining white.The scene unfolding before Faustine  resembled a play  in which she was the lead actress, only the stars weren't made of cardboard  but actually stood before her eyes. They began to dance around her, leaving a  trail of light behind, reflecting  off her skin, which now seemed to contain a galaxy of its own. They twirled in chorus towards the full benevolent  moon. Faustine raised her hand in its direction, to-

"Can I, please, get through?"

A voice ripped Faustine back to her senses, back to Earth and the hustle of morning prayer. Her eyes darted to see other people rising in turn: the mass was over and she happened to be the one too engrossed in daydreaming to notice.

Girl’s face scrunched, gaze brushing Faustine in mixture of christian pity and disapproval.

Right.

Dreams weren’t allowed at St Maria-the-Bow.

As soon as they left the prayer room, the young residents followed one after the other, silent under the stern eyes of the nuns. Once they reached the main hall, the anthill was divided: each group of children going about their own tasks. Some headed for the kitchen to help prepare meals, while others went to the storeroom to arm themselves with brooms. For her part, Faustine climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, closely followed by a flock of girls slightly younger than herself. After passing through several dull corridors, they finally arrived at the baby room. A dozen cribs stood there, each containing a toddler to be cared for: some asleep, others screaming more or less loudly, awakened by the light streaming in from the just-opened door. The girls already rushed  into the room, past Faustine, who remained standing at the landing. Some gave her questioning looks, others frowned at her motionless stance, but no one remarked. She kept staring  at the babies, heart in her throat.

Although no memory of it remained, Faustine had once  been in one of those cradles, years before. That some other girls, who came before, had to change her diapers, gave her a bottle. What had become of those girls? What would become of me?

"Miss Daemon, what are you waiting for?"

Faustine raised her eyes to glare at a nun towering behind her, hands clasped behind and small brown eyes squinted in judgment.

"Don’t think you can escape your duties by standing there in the hallway. If you don't want to do chores until midnight, hurry up and get to work."

"Sorry, Sister Kezia."

Head bowed, Faustine entered the room. She approached the first crib and observed the chubby baby, who had just woken up. No sooner had their eyes met than he started screaming at the top of his voice.

It was going to be a long day.

The sun finally set, and the babies, changed and fed, fell asleep again in their cribs, and even if they didn't sleep, it was no longer Faustine's problem. The children dined in religious silence before going to their own rooms. After washing up, they all prayed to God and thanked him for the day - Faustine didn't really pray - before going back to their beds.

Faustine shared a bedroom with five other girls: white, musty , three bunk beds facing each other, wooden bindings threatening to give way at any moment. A single chest of drawers was enough to store the residents' meager belongings. The nuns claimed owning little was a sign of virtue, but in reality the orphanage was too poor to garnish the room with anything more. Still, a crucifix remained on the blank wall, as if it followed Faustine wherever she went.

One by one, the residents slipped under their comforters without a word. Faustine followed, lying down on the bottom bunk. A quarter of an hour later, a nun opened their door to check if they were asleep. Half an hour later, the children's breathing became more regular.

Except for her.

Faustine jumped out of bed as discreetly as possible. She crouched down and reached under the bed, grabbing a slightly raised wooden plank before pushing it off. Her hand groped around in the hiding place, until it touched the object she was interested in: out popped a thick book. Faustine dusted off her blanket, smiling broadly, before snuggling back under the sheets. 

Since no candles were allowed, Faustine benefited from the moonlight streaming through the window onto her bed. The young girl set the book in front of the glass. As soon as she opened it, the inky black words seemed to dance. Faustine immediately lost herself in a world filled with wizards, dragons and magic. Although books were not forbidden at the orphanage, there were certain…recommendations. Witchcraft was associated with the Devil, and had no place in a religious establishment. However, after reading the entire library available to the residents, from textbooks to children's stories, Faustine's overflowing imagination couldn't stop there. May God forgive her, for it was to these cursed stories that she preferred to take refuge in.

The next day was a repeat. Up, prayers, breakfast, lessons, lunch, until it was time for chores.

As Faustine headed for the stairs, Sister Kezia intercepted her.

"The director wants you to go to town on errands."

The orphan prevented the smile from forming on her face to not tempt the sister to change her plans. So Faustine simply nodded.

"Go into the kitchen, so Sister Judy can give you what you need," ordered the nun.

Faustine obeyed, forcing herself to walk at a measured pace, her legs itching to run. The cold corridors of the orphanage suddenly seemed more colorful than ever.

As she entered the kitchen, a group of girls stopped chatting, staring as one in her direction, and their piercing eyes unsettled the joy felt only moments before. They look like vultures. Faustine tried to pass them with an indifferent expression, but when one of them whispered in her neighbor's ear, eyes glued to the newcomer, she  gritted her teeth to avoid making a scene. 

"Did you see the smug look on her face?"

"She keeps thinking she's better than us."

"Is she going to bother us again with her magic stories?"

"That crazy girl should be locked up in a hospital."

All those phrases she already before swirled in her mind, poisoning the mood.

"Ah, there you are." 

Sister Judy was a tall, overweight woman. She stood  over a large copper pot of steaming soup, the preparation of which Faustine suspected contained more water than any other ingredient. The sister grabbed a basket and threw it into Faustine’s  arms, handing a piece of paper with a bunch of words scrawled on it.

"The list."

Just as Faustine was about to take it, the nun raised her arm sharply.

"Don't dawdle, you've got to get back before nightfall. No detours."

"Of course."

The woman then held out the piece of paper, followed by a small wad of crumpled bills. Faustine felt the burning gaze of the orphans behind her, as she took them to stow away in her pocket.

"Ask a sister to give you the keys to the gate. Chop-chop!"

Faustine left the kitchen without further ado. Arriving at the gate in a long cloak to ward off the winter chill, Faustine watched the gates rise into the sky. She called out to a busy nun  clearing snow to make a path from the gate to the front door.

"Mrs. Robertson asked me to go shopping. May I have the keys to the gate?"

The little woman judged her up and down before taking out the bunch of keys without a word and let it fall into Faustine’s  hands. However foolish it was to entrust an orphan with the exit from her prison, no one was going against the director. They needed extra hands to fetch the groceries, and Faustine was the oldest resident, so it made sense for her to go.

When she put the key in the lock and it made that satisfying little click, Faustine took a deep breath and stepped outside.

If London seems like a gray city to you, try looking at it through the eyes of an orphan who'd lived cooped up all her life.

Sure, her clothes were rags, she didn't have wings growing out of her back, and the sun shone brighter than the moon. But Big Ben still towered high in the sky.

Every detail became a source of comfort: footsteps crunching in the burnished snow, the smell of pastries coming out of the corner bakery, the constant hubbub of passers-by who could range from shouting to laughter. If no one was paying her any attention, all her senses were on the alert to rediscover every little insignificant detail of this city.

The route she took was always the same: the bakery, the grocery, the fishmonger, the butcher. Each brimmed with the little secrets she loved so much. The sound of crusty bread in her arms, the countless rows of cans and bottles of different sizes and colors, the fish with strange faces that seemed to come straight from the unknown depths of the sea, and the smell of red meat so enormous it seemed to come from a legendary animal. Faustine examined each of these stores with a particular interest, which displeased some. Vendors would give her indiscreet glances for fear that this louse might steal something from them. But she always ended up with enough to pay, offering them her few bills with a broad smile.

The sun was beginning to set as she exited the last store and her basket was overflowing with supplies. She readjusted her jacket to keep warm, as Londoners began to head home to warm up in front of their open fires. But her afternoon wasn't over yet, and the best part of the day was just beginning.

The snow was starting to fall as she pulled up in front of a picturesque building. The crooked edifice made of aged red bricks and a wooden storefront that seemed to struggle to hold it up. Flower boxes brightened up the windows, overcoming the cold by some miracle. An "open" sign, written in curvilinear script inviting the curious inside, hung on a door engraved with pretty symbols and a hand-shaped knocker. It was the most beautiful building Faustine had ever seen.

A bell announced her arrival and immediately the smell of books enveloped her. The warmth quickly dispelled the icy cold from outside, as if she'd come home to a roaring fire. The walls of the store were narrow, but the high ceiling allowed hundreds of books to pile up to the top. The owner, Mr.Callan, was busy at the till with a couple. Faustine greeted him with a nod, which he caught, and responded with a large smile.

Books were everywhere. On the floor, on the staircase leading to Mr.Callan's private apartments, on the shelves, on the cash register. She walked carefully to avoid tripping over a detective novel, and weaved her way between two stacks of books taller than her, all the while ogling the titles on the shelves. To find what she was looking for, Faustine didn't have to be afraid to rummage from cover to cover. Not that she minded.

She let her finger wander along the edges, bending her head to read titles. A color, a name, a particular design could be enough to catch her eye and make her pick one up. She chose a substantial book wedged between an insect encyclopedia and an Austrian dictionary. The title was "Around the World in Seventy-Two Days" and featured a woman with a suitcase in hand, looking confident and determined. Faustine opened the book and flipped through a few pages. Thus, she found herself plunged into the heart of Japan, heard the sound of a steam train arriving at the station, greeted a fish through the porthole of a submarine and smelled fresh croissants in a Parisian bakery. Closing the book with a firm hand, she could still hear the foreign laughter of French sitting around a table. She placed it back on top of a pile carefully  before moving on.

Faustine barely moved away from a young reader slumped on the floor in a corner, so engrossed in his story that nothing seemed to disturb him. She tiptoed to the top of a shelf and grabbed a blue book with beautiful golden arabesques, only to open it without even reading the title. The sound of a seagull and the salty smell of the sea propelled her onto the pontoon of a pirate ship. She listened to the captain spouting orders to his crew and felt the frenzy of everyone going about their respective tasks. She would have stayed to see them dock with a royal ship, but once again, she closed the book and put it back in its place.

She began again and again. With each book Faustine found herself in a new universe. She could ride a horse through a haunted forest, fly alongside a Phoenix, swim among mermaids, lose herself in infinite space... Each book had its own smell, its own texture, its own story that took her on a journey. She loved to run her fingers over the paper as she passed each page. She could spend her days here, if no obligation held her back. Never had freedom seemed so close as in these words printed in black ink.

With a thud, she closed the last book in her hand. By staying here, she was losing all notion of time. She didn't want to be reprimanded - again -  for getting home after dark. Faustine clutched the fantasy novel she'd just leafed through. It was a forest green cover with a majestic dragon on it, promising a tale to take her far away from her monotonous life. She gritted her teeth, fighting an internal battle between want and responsibility.

Finally, she reached into her pocket for the remaining change. She rotated the coins in the palm of her hand, undecided. Faustine didn't like stealing and that money didn't belong to her. She had been trusted to run errands, which she had to take back to the orphanage. The money left over would be used for future purchases, which would go to all the children's possessions. But another part of her whispered that the director didn't need to know she'd given too much money. She deserved to be paid for the dirty work she had to do, didn’t she? This book wasn't too much to pay for all that was asked of her. It would be her reward for being the daily errand girl. And, above all, it wasn't the first time she'd done it. It was her treasures hidden under her bed that kept her going another day.

She watched people walk past the bookshop window, busy with their own lives. Inevitably more hectic, more interesting than that of a poor invisible orphan. She watched the ladies bundle up in their long, warm coats, the men clinging to their gloves and top hats. They all exuded a standard of living she would never attain. A child lingered in the window, pointing at a storybook. His mother  looked at him tenderly, murmuring an answer that only they could hear, before kissing him on the head and leading him away. Faustine's eyes drooped, the hole in her heart making itself felt more than usual. But once mother and son were gone, they revealed a person sitting across the street. An old man, dressed in rags and sitting on a wooden crate, was warming himself as best he could by rubbing his hands against his arms. No one looked at him. Faustine's heart sank at the sight. She took another look at the book she was holding, before putting it down and leaving the store.

She looked left and right before crossing the street. When she reached him, the old man didn't notice her, too tired and cold for that. Faustine bent down to place a few coins in the bowl in front of him. Their clicking finally woke him up, to meet the newcomer's blue gaze.

"I hope this is enough to buy you a hot meal," she murmured.

The homeless man smiled at her from beneath his white beard, without a word. The girl returned his smile, before continuing on her way. She had given him the few pennies she could’ve bought a book for. But in a way, she didn't care. If it meant the old man could warm up with a stew or a soup, that was enough. And so much for the money she should have given back to the director. She bit her lower lip, feeling guilty for complaining about her life, while others suffered more than she did. She was lucky to have a roof over her head, a semblance of an education, and meals every day - albeit meager.

The return journey was less spirited: the colors gradually turned gray again, as Faustine dragged her feet to the gate, which she locked. A prisoner who has to immure herself in her cell. Ironic, right?

Once inside, the cold didn't seem to have left her. Faustine took the shopping basket to one of the kitchen tables. No one seemed to have noticed her, while the nuns and children ran about, the former barking orders, the latter shivering as they carried them out, a sign that dinnertime was approaching. At least she'd made it back just in time.

Emerging from the frenzy of the kitchen, Sister Kezia was waiting for her. 

"Miss Robertson wants to speak to you in her office."

Faustine swallowed at the news. It was never a good sign when the director specifically wanted to see someone. She skirted the walls as she climbed the stairs with a step intended to be composed. She didn't want to attract any more attention by looking hurried and worried, but from the glances and murmurs of passing children, the news had already made rounds. Perhaps even before she got home. Faustine maintained a neutral, confident expression, but her throat was drying up and she couldn't do anything about it.

Arriving at the heavy wooden door, Faustine breathed for a moment to calm her racing heart, before knocking.

When the director’s voice ordered her to enter, the teenager felt as if she'd arrived in hell.

The room was large, yet felt more oppressive. The crackling fire in the fireplace didn't help. The walls were drab, a sole bookshelf stood proudly against the left-hand wall, filled with perfectly organized books and photos of the orphanage and its residents over the years. Faustine knew she had to be present for the last fifteen. In the center of the room, Miss Robertson sat at her wooden desk, writing with a steady hand on a sheet of paper she seemed to take a malicious pleasure in torturing. In front of her stood two chairs that looked as comfortable as sea urchins, these were set to welcome visitors. Those who had come to collect a child, and those who had come to drop one off. Faustine wondered if her parents had sat there, with her as an infant in their arms, to ask the orphanage to accept her. The director had always told her that she'd been abandoned on the doorstep, but she could just as easily be lying. Just to make her suffer, preaching that Faustine’s  parents hadn't even bothered to put her down in a warm place, but in front of the gates at the mercy of anyone.

Faustine was relieved when the director didn't ask her to sit down. She'd probably be the Ice Queen if she'd come from one of her fantasy books, with white hair pulled back in a high bun and an unsympathetic look behind small glasses, so much everything about her exuded coldness.

"Do you know why I brought you here?"

A sign that she was allowed to  speak. 

"No, ma’am."

Faustine clasped her hands behind to hide their trembling and stood straight, her gaze fixed on an imaginary point so as not to meet the director's gaze. Despite disgust for this woman, she couldn't help wanting to please her - more out of fear than affection.

The director crossed her hands in front of her and finally decided to turn her attention to the newcomer.

"Did you bring the groceries to the kitchen?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you manage to buy everything on the list?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're always late. Did you make a detour for this?"

Faustine knew how to arrange the truth. Technically, the bookshop was on her way home. If she got home late, it was because she stopped to go there, but she didn't make a detour.

"No, ma'am."

She squinted her wrinkled little eyes at the remark, before sighing. She bent down to grab something from the floor, before tossing it onto her desk. Faustine's heart sank.

All her books were stacked in a neat pile. She recognized each one by edge, size or color. Eyebrows raised and eyes wide, she betrayed her surprise and stress to the director, who remained as impassive as possible.

"I got this from your room. A child who was doing the housework wanted to sweep under your bed. That's when she saw a wooden slat askew. Pushing it aside, she discovered these books, which she promptly brought back to me, as they're normally kept in the library.”

With a lump in her throat, Faustine didn't reply and remained fixated on her wonders. 

"Can you tell me where they came from?"

An answer was required of her, but she'd be doomed either way. And the director knew it.

"Did you steal those books?”

"No."

"Did anyone give them to you?"

"No."

"Did you use the money I gave you to go shopping to buy them?"

Faustine swallowed.

"Only what was left over. I made sure to do all the shopping beforehand, and if there were a few coins left over, I'd put them aside to buy myself a book. I would never-

"So, you used the money from the orphanage to buy yourself presents?"

Faustines’s clammy hands began to shake again, as she tried to avoid the director's gaze.

"Y-yes... But it was only a very small amount, and I thought-"

"-So in addition to being a liar, you're a thief. And have been for a long time, if I judge this pile of books. I knew you were a selfish child, Faustine, but not to this degree."

The words felt like a punch in the face. She'd always disappointed the director, but it was something else to hear her say it.

The old woman grabbed the book at the top of the pile and adjusted her glasses in disgust as she read the cover.

"And… for what? For such... nonsense?"

Faustine bristled as she saw the hooked fingers leafing through her precious book. She bit her tongue to keep from yelling.

"Dragons, fairies, magic. Where did you get the idea to fill your head with such ludicrousy? You've always had your head in the clouds, but I was hoping you'd at least think about your future, not... this."

"But I need it!"

"No, you don’t, young lady!" the director shouted, rising from the chair, unable to bear being contradicted. "What you need is a strict, firm education. You've got to stop fantasizing about imaginary worlds and start living in reality! The only life you have is the one our Lord has granted you. Can't you see I'm trying to help you survive  a life outside these walls? What good are your dreams, when you're out on the street with nothing but your body to sell?"

The violence of these words cut Faustine off at the seams. Her muscles twitched. She would have liked to retort, but the director wasn't entirely wrong; part of Faustine's reason for reading was to escape this monotonous life. She would rather lose herself in these worlds than have to face reality. Miss Robertson realized  that she had touched a nerve, and continued to plunge in.

"Would you like me to remind you of the future that awaits you on the other side of our gates? Here, you're fed, you have a roof over your head, but outside, you'll have to fend for yourself if you don't want to sleep under a bridge. You'll have to work, if anyone is willing to take you on. Which won't happen if you keep daydreaming and wasting your time."

She finally picked up the stack of books and moved dangerously close to the fireplace. Faustine's eyes widened, but she had no time to react. 

"You're a smart girl, Faustine. You know I'm right. And if I have to go that far to make you come to your senses, so be it."

The director tossed the books into the fire. Faustine stifled a frightened scream and raised a desperate arm towards the quickly blackening paper. She was ready to burn her hands to retrieve it, but the old woman turned sharply and unfolded her hooked fingers towards her.

"Give me the book you bought today."

A flash of memory made Faustine flinch, propelling her down the snowy street, only to be brought back by the stifling heat of the flames decomposing her treasure.

"I don't have any," she replied, her throat dry.

"Then give me back the money you had left over from the errand. I'm sure you didn't spend it all."

"I don’t either-"

A vein in the director's temple threatened to explode in anger as she cut Faustine off from her explanation by violently grabbing her wrist. The teenager's blue eyes widened in horror at the sight of her raised hand, which immediately lowered to her cheek with a sonorous clap.

"A thief... a liar..." growled the director between her teeth. "A beating, that's all you deserve."

Faustine's mind clouded with shock. In addition to the pain, it was the violence of the act that left her dazed. She blinked several times to come to her senses, and the first thing she saw was her precious books charred in the fireplace. She wanted to scream at her tormentor. To tell her that she couldn't be satisfied with a life like this. That she didn't owe her or God for her current situation. That she wanted more. That she needed more.

But when the old woman raised her hand again to strike, fear took control of her body. Faustine managed to break free from the steely grip and ran.

The director’s shrill cries ordered her to return, but she did not. She ran towards the exit and violently pushed open the doors. The cold winter wind assaulted her face, but she didn't care.

Arriving at the high gate, Faustine slowed down, her heart racing. Howling sounded behind her. Panicking, she shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed as they touched a small metal object. The gates couldn't resist the key she'd kept from her afternoon outing. Once again, Faustine stepped through the gate like a penitentiary that had seen the light of day after years of confinement. She surrendered to her footsteps, which guided her to who knew where. 

As long as it was far from the orphanage, she’d be alright.

Faustine didn't know how long she'd been running. Step after step in the snow, arms crossed over her body for warmth, Faustine tried to tell herself that she'd been right to run away, even if it didn't seem like it. With each doubt that crossed her mind, she recalled the slap on her face and her books burning. The thought of that fire overwhelmed and made her shiver. What would she give for a little warmth? The moon shone high in the sky, although the stars were hidden by the light pollution of the street lamps. How many times had she admired the white moon from her bedroom? If her situation wasn't so desperate, she'd savor this moment of silence she'd missed so much at the orphanage. London seemed to have frozen into a resplendent tableau. Her eyes moved from the sky to the lighted windows in the houses. If she listened carefully, she could hear children laughing.

She took a step in the direction of one of the houses, before changing her mind, caught up in her doubts. She looked around, searching for a familiar building in vain. When she was allowed out of the orphanage, she always took the same route. The stores, then the bookshop. She had never strayed from this path, as she preferred to burn her time among the pages rather than in the real world. Determined to find a purpose, she set out to find her favorite store. With any luck, Mr. Callan would be able to help her. Running her tongue over her chapped lips, she strove to take another step forward, motivated by the idea of being able to reach her sanctuary.

After about ten minutes, she finally stood in front of the building.

The store was closed. Looking up at the windows above, Faustine put her frozen hands around her mouth to echo.

"Hello? Anybody home, please?"

No light came on. Faustine waited a few minutes, calling again. She knocked on the door with the knocker, but no soul intervened.

Faustine slid down the door. Her skirt came into contact with the snow, but she didn't shiver. I'm only taking a break, she thought to herself, before setting off again. But go back where? She could retrace her steps back to the orphanage, but a shiver crept up her spine at the very thought. She could always wait here till dawn, wait to see more clearly, to see people, and... what? Beg? Ask for help? Who'd want to help a bum orphan? It wouldn't be long before the police brought her back. The director was right: she was fed and housed there. She thought of that old beggar she gave her coins to. Was he alright and fed tonight?

Curled up against herself to fight off the cold and her thoughts in anxious disarray, Faustine felt her eyelids close on their own, before a movement caught her attention. In a narrow passageway between two buildings, two men appeared literally from nowhere, before their feet touched the ground. Faustine stood up, unsure of what she had just witnessed. The strangers glanced around, but failed to spot the teenager at the other end of the street. They moved deeper into the dark alley, as if nothing had happened.

Intrigued, Faustine decided to follow them.

She ran down the alley, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the snow. Keeping a good distance between her and the two men, she  nevertheless observed them in more detail. Both wore  long trench coats, the one on the left was taller, slimmer and with  a distinguished top hat. The shorter one was stocky and bald, but also sounded older somehow. Without shouting, snatches of their conversation reached Faustine. 

"... Ready... Good time...?" 

"... Don't worry... Important merchandise…"

"... If ever... magic..."

Faustine almost stopped at the word. 

Wide-eyed, she wanted to learn more, before realizing that she had to slow down: she had been mechanically speeding up. She stood still for a moment, only to see the men turn between two buildings and disappear from sight. Panicking, she hurried to join them. Around the corner, she saw them take a high iron door. As it closed heavily behind them, its features began to fade, as if someone was erasing them. Without thinking, Faustine ran towards it, grabbed the still visible handle and stepped inside. The entrance vanished at once. Her amazed eyes remained fixed on the now smooth wall. A problem for later.

Turning around, she discovered a small open-air courtyard, surrounded by tall buildings with faded facades. A long corridor led at the end to a brick wall, where one would expect to find a door. A tall cylindrical tower overlooked the apartments, with small square windows opening onto a staircase. The smell of carrion wrinkled her nose.

The two strange men faced a new stranger. His clothes matched: a luxurious black suit under a long brown coat. He wore graying sideburns and small, round glasses. His features wrinkled as the two men approached, revealing a growing anxiety. Faustine hid behind a wooden barrel, serving as a table with bottles of alcohol on its lid. In this position, she couldn't see the men, but their voices came through loud and clear.

"Mr. Thompson, what a pleasure to see you again," declared the smaller man. "Are you satisfied with our boiling teapot?"

"Y-yes. My mother-in-law has been in the hospital ever since I gave it to her. I didn't see with my own eyes the miracles you promised, but the result was there."

Faustine tilted her head a little more towards them, ears wide open.

"Apparently, her house was turned upside down, there was tea everywhere. Her face was burned -but she'll get over it. The authorities blamed it on an argument between neighbors."

"I'm delighted," continued the older man. "Will you be interested in our latest merchandise?"

"Invisibility potion," croaked the young man in a squeaky voice that made her wince.

Faustine peeked out a bit.

He twirled a vial with his long fingertips, like charming a snake with his flute. The man with the sideburns seemed mesmerized, before coughing his way out of the daydream.

"Perhaps I could have a... glimpse of its effectiveness?"

The bald man placed his hands on his hips.

"The teapot worked fine, didn't it?"

"Just a precaution."

The two sellers exchanged brief glances, eyebrows furrowed and backs straightened. The younger directed his hand beneath his coat, before the other raised his arms in submission.

"You heard him. The gentleman wants to check the quality of our products."

The younger man grunted. He caught the cork in his teeth before spitting it on the floor, then lifted the unfamiliar liquid to his lips. In three gulps, the vial was empty. Faustine's breathing came to a halt as she watched the man's contours gradually disappear, like the door a few moments ago. First his feet, then his hips, back, arms and finally his head. If a slight reflection still allowed a glimpse of a shape, the illusion was almost perfect. A long smile spread across her cold-rosy face. She had never witnessed anything so extraordinary.

The invisible figure spun around, as evidenced by the footprints in the snow. Then, a few seconds later, he reappeared. Faustine’s heart pounded in her chest.

The magician pulled another bottle from his coat, while the other held out a greedy hand.

"As for the price... You'll understand that we're the only ones to sell these items to the Muggle world. You'll never find them anywhere else. As for its effectiveness, there's nothing better. You're free to do what you like with it."

Muggle world? Now they were talking in strange words that filled her ears like a sweet melody. The sight made her forget the biting cold that froze her limbs from crouching behind that barrel. Until her foot landed on a sharp texture that made a screeching sound. Shards of broken glass are crushed under her sole.

"Damn," she muttered.

The three men immediately stared at her with big, round eyes. Faustine remained motionless, naively hoping they wouldn't see her. But in her eagerness to hear a little more of their conversation, she had moved far too close, the barrel no longer hiding her. Suddenly, a terrible tension filled every bone in her body, the magic of one moment turning into the dread of another.

Faustine took a step back, her hands raised in submission, well aware that she shouldn't be here.

"Listen, I won't say anything. I didn't see anything."

A big fat lie. 

The taller dealer was the first to walk up to her, while casting a questioning glance at the second, who shook his head briefly. Faustine stepped back.

"I swear to you. No one will know an-"

A bolt of red lightning struck. Faustine quickly crouched down with a scream, clasping her hands over her head. The young man clutched a distorted wooden wand in his hand, a scarlet glow emanating from it. Glancing back, Faustine saw a smoldering black mark on the wall where the door had previously appeared.

"What are you waiting for?" spat the eldest.

His arm rose. Sparks flew from the end of the wood. The girl didn't wait for the rest. She leapt up, and another bolt of lightning struck the spot where she had been a second before. The snow melted there with an icy crackle. Not asking for more, Faustine ran to the tower. She passed the customer, who just stood there, helpless. As the girl reached the gate, her hands struck the cold metal as she gripped it with all her might. Miraculously, it opened under her weight.

"Confrigo!"

A searing explosion melted the metal centimeters from her fingers. Wide-eyed, the orphan rushed up the spiral staircase.

The two men set off after her. Their every step echoed in the narrow tower. Spells kept coming, but the circular architecture meant they could never aim right. A brick exploded just above her. Each explosion vibrated in her chest, as if her heart would stop at the next one.

With wobbly legs, Faustine shoved the exit door open. She found herself on the rooftops. London was sleeping just below. Breathing heavily, she would have stopped to admire the scenery, if two wizards - were they wizards? - weren't trying to kill her.

"Come back here!"

The shout snapped her out of stupor. Faustine placed a shaky foot on the first snow-covered roof. Her legs hesitated between running and walking. The void pitched at less than a meter. The cold wind swept through her blond hair and unbalanced every limb. But she kept going, one slippery step after another. Don't look down. Don't look down...

A shout snapped her out of her stream of thought.

"Bombarda!"

Immediately, the roof jumped under her feet. Tiles smashed into her forearms as she shielded her face. A cry escaped her lips as she desperately reached out, clawing at the void to grab hold of something. Her right hand caught a hanging store sign, a stabbing pain shot through her shoulder. A gag turned her stomach. All her limbs would have shattered if she hadn't caught herself. Her left hand joined the first on the board, transfixed by the touch of icy metal and snow. But her fingers slipped inexorably.

"No, no, no…” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

Until she let go.

Her buttocks landed first, the snow taking part of the fall. But that didn't stop her legs from hitting the sidewalk hard. Her body begged to lie still. To not move. Blood pounded in her temples, while an icy breath crossed her chapped lips. How good it would be to close her eyes and feel nothing. But the voice of her pursuers immediately put her back on her bruised legs.

"You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood!" 

Windows in the surrounding buildings lit up with candles, alerted by the noise. Some shutters opened. But most remained closed, as if the inhabitants were trying to escape the danger from outside.

"Help!"

Her words bounced into the void. The wizards came closer and closer. Which way did they come down? No time to think, no time to wait for help. Her feet had to start running again, despite the pain. Unfortunately, she didn't know this part of London: every street seemed a labyrinth.

Faustine slipped on a patch of black ice, which made her turn at a crossroads. She caught herself in extremis so as not to fall, just as another bolt of red lightning streaked across the sky to burn a lock of her hair. Out of breath, she straightened up and rushed into the new alleyway. Her feet pounded the ground, shaky but holding firm. A groan caught in her throat as she spotted a wooden palisade standing in her way. The footsteps of her enemies reached her ears. Turning back was impossible. She took a short breath before jumping. She slid down the fence, but her hands caught painfully on the edge of the wooden planks. Her right shoulder shot with pain again. Without paying any attention, Faustine pulled herself up as fast as she could, before landing crouched on the other side. She winced as she felt a snap in her leg. Get back on your feet, get back, get back!

But the palisade exploded right behind her, dragging the girl along in its blast. She screamed in surprise, thrown forward. Her face crashed into the snow. Her trembling hands immediately tried to pull her to her feet. Stand up.

"We've got you at last.”

Faustine turned towards the pursuers, still lying down, crawling away.

"Please..."

Her back jerked as she hit a wall. Her face sank: a dead-end. 

"I won't say anything," she begged once more, "I have nothing to say to anyone, I'm nobody."

Her suffocating respiration was the only thing she held on to. A breath.

Both wizards raised their wands.

"Please..."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

They pointed in her direction.

"Please..."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Avada kedavra!"

Inhale.

Faustine's body instinctively folded in on itself, ready to receive the blow.

A crackle. A bang.

Everything went black.

Rays of sunlight seeped through the windows to caress her face. The scent of plants hung softly in the air. Gradually, ambient noises reached her: rapid footsteps on the wooden floor, muffled speech, the rustle of leaves. Faustine opened one eye.

The first thing she saw was a white ceiling. She turned her head back onto the pillow she was resting against. To the right, a half-closed shutter on a high window let in the sun. To the left, a few peonies slumbered in a vase, surrounded by medicine-scented bottles. A small basin of water stood on the wooden bedside table, along with linen and bandages. In the corner of the room, a lonely wooden chair lay.

The girl winced as she tried to sit up. Her whole body ached. As she tried to move her right arm, she realized that it was wrapped in a scarf, which passed behind her neck. Abandoning the idea of using it, her second hand palpated her face. Faustine ran her fingertips over her  forehead, down her left eye, then down her cheek to her neck. Her heart began to palpitate. Bandages.

The basin suddenly began to shake, startling her, then stopped. Faustine remained motionless for a few seconds, staring at the copper bowl that seemed to tell her she'd just been dreaming. Hesitantly, she raised a hand timidly towards her bedside table. The object remained in its place. What did you expect?

Until it moved in her direction. It was so slight that she couldn't believe her eyes. Her mouth half-opened astonished. Then a pain in the back of her head jolted her to life.

Suddenly, the door to her room opened, and a young woman in a gray dress with a white apron appeared. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight bun, while a white hat sat delicately on her head. A few strands of hair fell over her softly pale face. A gentle smile widened on her pink lips. 

"Are you awake?"

She swiftly turned and tapped a nurse passing in the corridor behind her.

"Tell Doctor Harding to come and see the patient in room 32."

Finally, she approached the bed, her arms laden with linen and bandages. Faustine couldn't help but recoil at her approach. The nurse stopped dead in her tracks.

"It's all right, you're safe here.”

She placed her belongings on the sheets.

"I'll have to change your bandages."

Her voice was gentle, but firm. It wasn't a question. Docile, Faustine relented. The young woman then set about removing the pins holding the bandages around her head. One by one, she gently unwound them. Unlike the new ones, these were yellowed and spotted with red marks. As soon as the bandages covering her left eye were removed, she could see fully again. Her blond hair slipped in contact with her mutilated skin, making her shudder.

"Can I... can I see myself?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

The nurse frowned, not in annoyance, but in concern.

"I don't know if it's advisable to... The doctor will come..."

"Please."

Faustine held the end of her sheets tightly, trembling. The young woman withstood her pleading looks for a few seconds, before giving in. She placed the basin on the Faustines lap. The girl’s gaze dipped into the reflection.

The scar began on her forehead, before reaching her left eyelid. Then from dark circles came two lines, one running down to her chin and ending in a curl. The second scribbled three arcs, crossing her entire cheek, descending a little further towards her ear, before zigzagging across her neck, divided into multiple strokes before ending.

Faustine sat still, staring again and again at the scar. Her eyes kept gliding over the loop, uncovering something new with each pass. Half her face was disfigured. Above the reflection of her head, she noticed a crucifix towering over her, hanging on the wall.

"What happened to me?"

"... We thought you might be able to shed some light on the matter."

The door opened again as the young woman finished pinning the last bandage. An older man, with brown hair plastered to his head and a beardless chin, stood upright in the doorway. A leather-bound notebook, aged by time, stood in his steady hand.  The nurse immediately stood up.

"I've finished, Doctor. I'll leave you with her."

"Thank you."

Faustine didn't have time to thank the nurse in turn before she had already left, closing the door. The doctor approached swiftly.

"My name is Dr. Harding. I'm the one who took care of you during your convalescence. Glad to see you awake."

He pulled out the wooden chair calmly to sit opposite the bed. Faustine sure wasn't used to such benevolence, especially in the space of fifteen minutes.

The doctor's voice was warm, deep and well timed as he spoke again. Faustine found herself thinking that he would have made a good singer. 

"Your situation has been stabilized. You have a sprain in your arm, which should recover in a few weeks with rest. Your pelvis and legs are riddled with superficial wounds, requiring only a few days' immobility for a full recovery. Your facial wound came very close to blind your eyeball, but thank goodness your left eye was spared."

Faustine assimilated this information without flinching. The doctor then opened his notebook and took a pen from his jacket.

"I'm now going to ask you a few questions."

The girl swallowed, her voice still hoarse.

"Name?"

"Faustine. Faustine Daemon."

Fortunately, no remark was made about her too un-Catholic name.

"Age?"

“Fifteen."

"Place of residence?"

Her throat went dry.

"St. Maria-the-Bow Orphanage."

The pen didn't stop tracing black lines on the yellowed pages.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Faustine narrowed her eyes, trying to put her memories together like puzzle pieces.

"I left the orphanage... and wandered the streets. I found myself... er... in a park. No, in front of Mr. Callan's bookshop. And I..."

The burning books. The slap. Her legs tumbling down the stairs. The cold biting her skin. The moon shining in the night. From there, her memories cracked more and more, until they ended in little pieces.

"... I don't know."

The pen stopped dead on the page. Doctor Harding raised his head, scratching his chin.

"Don't blame yourself for this. You've had a shock and a concussion. I wanted to find out how far back your memory went, but it seems that some of it has escaped you.”

"Will I regain my memories?"

"Only time will tell."

The notebook closed with a snap. The doctor leaned forward, as if about to confide something.

"Neighbors found you unconscious, alone in the street, in the middle of the night. Apparently, they were alerted by screams. You were found in a pitiful state, but fortunately you were quickly taken to our hospital. We suspect an assault with a knife, from the look of the wound on your face."

Faustine digested this new information, trying to paste it back together with her memories, in vain. She shivered as her fingertips touched the bandages. What happened to me?

"I've prescribed two weeks' rest, we'll see how you recover. You're malnourished, which may lengthen the time of your recovery. You'll have to take medicine morning and night, and eat well to regain your strength. The police may come to question you, and an investigation should be opened."

"The police?"

"Don't worry, they’re here to help you. Just answer what you know."

The man rose from the chair, before grabbing the door handle.

"Right, I'll let the director of your orphanage know you're here."

The next day, the police did indeed come : Faustine told them everything she knew about the attack, which wasn't much. Even the neighbors had gathered more information. Those who had found her unconscious had heard her cry for help. Two silhouettes of men had been identified, but everyone was too far away to describe them. Faustine wasn't much help at this point.

From the look on the police officers' faces, the case would be dropped. No one wants to waste time investigating an orphan and two vanished thugs.

As soon as they had left, Faustine's throat was dry from all the talking, she wanted to help herself to the glass of water on the table. But no sooner had she thought of this than it came right up to the rim, threatening to fall to the ground.

This sort of thing started happening more and more every day. Whenever she was alone, objects began to move. The shutters opened in the morning to let in the soft glow of the sun, the sheets covered her up to her shoulders when she shivered with fever, the chair turned towards her as if to watch over her when she felt lonely. Only the crucifix above her head remained peaceful.

No plausible explanation came to mind for all this. Except that she was really going mad.

The days passed slowly. Faustine's legs almost fully recovered, and her arm was on the mend. Her scar had not become infected, the wound now stabilized. The nurses removed the bandages for good, judging that they were no longer needed. However, the doctor confirmed that she would remain scarred  for life.

On the morning of the tenth day, the bedroom door slammed against the wall as it suddenly opened. Instead of a nurse or the smiling face of Dr. Harding, viper's eyes hidden behind rectangular glasses darted in the direction of the patient's scar. Miss Robertson's wrinkled face immediately grimaced with disgust.

"This time, for sure. No one will want you anymore."

An invisible punch struck Faustine's chest.

The director inspected the small room around her, sniffing. The empty chair invited her to sit down, but she deliberately ignored it.

"I suppose the Lord has punished you enough for your insolence. Nevertheless, don't think that everything will be forgotten when you return to the orphanage. You'll have so many tasks to complete that you won't even think of running away."

Faustine wanted to cover her ears. Every word exuded nothing but contempt. Worse, reality had really caught up with her: the director was right. She was nothing outside the bars of the orphanage. A single night out had landed her in a hospital, disfigured. If there had been any hope of adoption, it was now gone. No one would want a crazy, mutilated thief.

"The doctor said you'll be home in two days."

With that, she turned on her heel and left.

Two days.

Two days before returning to the routine of the orphanage.

Two days before returning to the low masses, the chores, the punishments, the hopeless prayers. Her books now ashes, she'd never set foot outside again until she came of age, and then - and then what?

Magic didn't exist, nothing could save her from this fateful destiny, all because her parents hadn't wanted her.

No one will want you.

Her head bowed and her fingers clutched at the sheets, Faustine bit her lips and fought a sob in her throat. Objects around her began to shake, subtly at first, before threatening to fall. The glass on the bedside table cracked, the shutters slammed, the flowers lost their petals, the chair crunched to the floor. Faustine felt Christ's gaze burn her back. She turned sharply to unhook him from the wall and raised her arm, ready to throw him. Red-eyed, holding back tears, her body trembled like the whole room, like a heart in unison. Her skin broke as she clutched the cross so tightly in her hands. Breathing hard, she was about to throw away the sacred object, before finally changing her mind. The room stopped shaking. She turned it over in her hands to observe Christ's wounded expression, bleeding on his cross. A tear rolled down her wounded cheek before falling onto his face. With her back bent and her shoulders slumped, Faustine could no longer stop tears from flowing.

"I'm sorry." she murmured between hiccups.

She didn't know to whom she was apologizing.

There was only one day left. Faustine rested, head buried in the pillow. All she wanted was to enjoy these last few hours of calm. The sun's rays caressed her skin. Her sleep was constantly disturbed by nightmares, a mixture of screams, blows and green lightning. It all seemed far too real. Even her imagination had decided to abandon her.

Someone knocked on the door, causing her to open her eyes.

"You have a visitor." announced a nurse.

A man of advanced years, dressed in a strange blue and brown jacket, stepped into the doorway. He wore a blue scarf studded with arabesques and stars. His gray hair and wrinkled face made him look wise, but not hard, unlike Miss Robertson. Unlike her, his gaze glanced distractedly at the orphan without seeming to see her. The nurse left them alone.

"Sorry for my lateness," he muttered. "Professor Weasley asked me to come and welcome you, but I've been caught up with business at the Ministry and haven't seen the time. All for the sake of trivialities, once again..."

He stopped short in his tirade as Faustine stared at him with two big round eyes. She had never seen this man before. It was the first time she'd seen anyone dressed like that, even in London. 

Her gaze moved from his jacket to his brown vest, leather sleeves and beautifully patterned scarf. When he spoke again, she feared she'd been rude to spy on him like that.

"Anyway, none of this is important, and I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Professor Eleazar Fig, I teach magical theory at Hogwarts. You must be Faustine Daemon?"

A familiar feeling, coming from she didn't know where, made her shudder as she assimilated so much information at once, all missing a little more meaning. She wished she could have paused the conversation to try and understand these terms. Hogwarts? Magic theory? And where did he know her name from? This name, pronounced with no hatred in his voice.

As if reading her mind, said professor grabbed a letter from inside of his jacket, before handing it to her.

"This should be able to enlighten you."

Hesitantly, Faustine reached for the envelope with a limp hand, her right arm having almost recovered. Her hand folded in on itself, as if she feared burning herself as she reached for the paper, before taking it with her fingertips under the old man's warm smile. The wax seal showed an "H", surely for the name of the school. She gently broke it to open the contents.

Her eyes roamed the black lines, her heart beating faster and faster with each word.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a fifth-year student.

Term begins on 1 September.

Preliminary supplies have been collected for you and will accompany you on your journey to the castle.

As you may be aware, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibits the use of magic by those under the age of seventeen outside the school. However, due to your unique circumstances, the Ministry has graciously agreed to allow Professor Eleazar Fig to help you hone your spell-casting before escorting you from London to the castle for the start-of-term feast and the Sorting Ceremony.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Weasley

Deputy Headmistress

The emblem at the top of the letter depicted a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle, surrounding the letter H. Faustine's fingers were gripping the paper so tightly they were turning white. The professor was about to speak again, but she was quicker:

"Is this a joke?"

The old man's gray eyebrows furrowed.

"I beg your pardon? Why would it be?"

The orphan's whole body began to tremble. The letter crumpled under her clammy hands.

"Please," she begged, "if it's a bad joke, say so now. If... if this is false hope…"

These last words ended  with a sob. Why was this happening now? Why, after resigning to dream  of a better life, after having been told all these years  that she wasn't good enough for anything, was she being told that she was a student at a magic school? The very thought would earn her at least fifteen strokes at the orphanage.

Professor Fig glanced at the closed door.

"Perhaps an example is more telling."

A slightly twisted wooden wand appeared in his age-stained hand. With the other, he picked up the empty glass beside the bed. He twirled the tip of the wand just once in the air, and a jet of water plunged from it into the container. It all happened so fast that Faustine thought she was daydreaming. He reached for the glass, but before she could grab it, he dropped it. When it should have spilled onto the sheets, it just hung there. She stared at it, not daring to touch it for fear of breaking the spell. Nevertheless, she passed a hand over and under the glass, to check that no threads were hanging from it.

"So... it's true?" she murmured. "But... Why isn't anyone talking about it? Why does everyone seem to fear just the mention of magic?"

The professor coughed in embarrassment.

"The Wizarding world and the Muggle world - the world of non-magical beings - are two very distinct things. We live in hiding, because we're... well... not very well received."

Faustine thought back to the orphanage, the prayers, the witchcraft associated with the Devil and all the torments of Earth. Yet here, in front of her, magic had never seemed so benevolent.

"Ever since I've been in the hospital, I've been seeing objects move around me. I... I thought I was crazy."

"Not at all, my child. They're just fragments of the magic inside you. A far greater power awaits you, with a little practice."

My child. Her eyes moistened at the mention.

"But why now?"

"According to your doctor, you seem to have experienced a, uh... assault," he continued carefully, lest he hurt her feelings. "This traumatic event may have awakened your dormant powers. Your name appeared in the Book of Admittance on the night of the event. By the way..."

His gaze fell for the first time on her scar. But no disgust contorted his features.

"... Sure you were told it was a knife assault, however, the shape of your wound hints of its magical nature. I'm afraid you've met some dark wizards."

At these words, images of green and blue lightning battled in her mind, causing a sudden migraine. It was all too blurred to make any sense of it, but that might explain her nightmares.

"Let me reassure you," the professor added, "that you won't have to deal with those kinds of individuals at Hogwarts. The school is protected by powerful spells that prevent anyone with malicious intent from attacking our students. Not to mention our teachers, each more powerful than the last, will defend you.”

"And Miss Robertson? The director of my orphanage?"

He winced at the mention.

"I met this charming lady before coming to see you. As she's your legal guardian, I had to inform her about the magical world and your nature as a witch. She looked like she was going to chase me off with a crucifix. But she can't interfere with wizarding law. She's the only one who knows this secret, and knows the consequences of revealing  it to anyone.”

"Does this mean I won't be living in the orphanage anymore?" she asked, hopeful.

"Only during summer vacations though, and until you come of age. But during the school year, you'll be living at Hogwarts, in the house to which you'll be sorted."

Faustine lowered her head at this announcement. While she was delighted to be able to escape the nuns for more than half the year, she would still have to go back. But it was a good start. She'd never expected so much.

As she wanted to ask more, so many questions rising in her head at once, but Professor Fig spoke to her calmly again:

"If it suits well with you, I'll be your mentor for the next few months between now and the start of the new school year. I'll teach you the basic spells, provide you with history books on the wizarding world, everything you need to catch up to your peers and start the fifth year in peace."

If that suits me? Why wouldn't it suit me? All her life, she'd hoped such a moment would come. While she waited for parents to free her from the burden of orphanhood, here she was, thrust back into her beloved fantasy books. She would be able to live in a castle, meet magical creatures, surrounded by students who were just like her. Wizards.

Her voice trembled with excitement, eyes brimming with tears.

"It does."

She believed in magic again.

Thank you so much for reading this far. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it 🫶 it was a great adventure, and I'm happy with the result 🥹Thanks again to @alsopartgekkos for your precious help ✨ I'd love to know what you think, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment 💙

PS: english isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes!

#hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hphl mc #hphl oc #hphl #faustine daemon #hogwarts oc #harry potter #ravenclaw #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #eleazar fig #professor fig #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #hogwarts legacy ominis #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #dividers by cafekitsune

[bridgertonbabe]

could you imagine an AU where Charlotte was desperate for an heir and looked at Kate, Sophie, and Penelope and a lightbulb pinged on her head. “OHHHHH BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!!”

It would be a lot of fun to have an AU where in; Anthony and Kate remain butting heads with one another (while pretending as if there's no sexual tension between them); Sophie is the legitimate daughter of the earl and out in society but not taking the bohemic Benedict seriously as a suitor; and Penelope has a glow up afforded to her thanks to her Whistledown earnings while giving Colin the cold shoulder after overhearing him declaring he would never dream of courting her.

Queen Charlotte meanwhile attends the Danbury ball, the first of the season, and shrewdly surveys the room as she hunts for potential wives to settle her sons down and produce legitimate heirs. Sure, her courtiers had made recommendations for particular ladies of the Ton but Charlotte wanted to scope the Marriage Mart herself to see which eligible ladies she personally deemed worthy of becoming dutiful princesses and producing potential heirs for the crown. A lot of the ladies in the room were doing the Most™ to grab her attention and be granted her approval; but the three ladies who happened to catch her eye were gathered by the edge of the room and enraptured in bright and enthused conversation with one another. The queen swans over to them, surprising them by her approaching and engaging with them. She speaks with each of them in turn, and then finds herself encouraging them while indulging herself in sharing their thoughts about art, music, hobbies and interests, as well as their thoughts about certain members of the Ton (she does enjoy companions she can have a good gossip with). After a good twenty minutes of getting to know them the queen declares she is thoroughly impressed by Miss Kate Sharma, Lady Sophia Gunningworth, and Miss Penelope Featherington; and she invites them for tea at the palace the following day. The trio, while taken aback, accept the invitation - after all, who declines an invitation from the queen herself?

The three ladies were pleasantly naive in thinking that tea with the queen was nothing more than that - but as soon as three of the princes join them, they soon recognise the smirk on Queen Charlotte's face - the smirk of a meddling matchmaking mama. And so then, much to Kate, Sophie, and Penelope's shock and disbelief, they find themselves being courted by the princes. The three ladies truly don't know what to make of it and are genuinely worried that regardless of how they feel they might not have any choice in the matter if the queen demands they wed her sons for the good of the crown and country.

Meanwhile it doesn't take very long for word to travel to Bridgerton House and the Bridgerton brothers are thunderstruck to learn that Kate, Sophie, and Penelope are all being courted by princes. Finally all three buck up their ideas as they realise how ardently they love their respective lady and they try to figure out a way in which they can win their sweethearts over from actual princes.

(Plus a bonus scene of them going to the Duke of Hastings for advice, seeing as Daphne picked him over a prince. Simon's internal monologue goes something like, "let's not bother mentioning that their sister was thinking of me while touching herself so I had the upper hand right from the jump".)

#asks #kanthony #benophie #polin #queen charlotte

[cryptids-of-spielzeit]

Candles

Present 2: Festivities

(A Marching Hare Story)

It was the day after the encounter with that strange little bunny. Little Charlotte Reed was still filled with awe and wonder. She had heard of the Easter Bunny, but that couldn't have been him, it wasn't Easter, it was the middle of August. He couldn't have been a figment of her imagination either, she still had that shiny rock that he had left behind, which she put in her pocket.

She walked into the kitchen, backpack over her shoulder. Her older sister by 5 years, Dee, taking a sick day, was at the table eating some pancakes. Their father, Grant, had prepared her breakfast, a simple plate of eggs and bacon. He was trying to maintain a façade of normalcy, as he too saw the bunny. But he wasn't filled with awe, rather, he was utterly confused. What in the world was that thing, was it even real? Dee looked like she could care less.

"Daddy, daddy, d'you think that someone can make this into a bracelet?"

She held up the rock. There was no way. Did that encounter really happen? He cleared his throat, straightening himself up before kneeling, getting to Charlotte's level.

"Oh, of course honey! Mr. Welker's one of the best jewelers in town!"

"Yay!", Charlotte cried, kicking with glee. She gave the rock to her father, quickly gobbling up her breakfast before making her way towards the door.

"Have a good day at school, honey! Oh, and don't forget, your Mom will be home from her trip tonight, so be ready to surprise her!"

"Okay!"

As he watched his daughter happily walk to school, he took a quick look at the rock. Still dusty from being in the ground, yet its sheen did not falter. A faded red stone, as glittery as a lake on a clear summer's day...it could've just been underneath all the presents. What sense would there be in there being a giant bunny, right?

"Are you okay Dad? Did I get you sick too?"

"No, Dee. Just pondering, that's all."

That day, Charlotte told every kid she knew about the "Birthday Bunny". While, of course, she was met with some doubt, a large sum of the children believed her. It would soon became a topic of conversation amongst parents.

One of whom, a Ms. Susan Reed, had just returned from a business trip. She had been out of town for only a few days, and missing her daughter's birthday pained her, so much so that she quit her job. There's no way being a sales rep was so important that a trip to Boca Raton was required. And besides, there were plenty of other job opportunities in Spielzeit.

As she opened the door to her home, she was greeted by the pleasant sight of her husband and daughters, with a dinner table set up with her favorite dish (and lucky sickness remedy), a good old fashioned pot of chicken and dumplings.

They hugged each other and sat down to eat. Charlotte had been waiting for this moment, she was so excited to tell her mommy about the Birthday Bunny.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy, I had a good birthday! There was a bunny that came by and gave me a gift! Daddy has it in his pocket, show her, Daddy!"

Grant pulled the rock out from his pocket, now washed and affixed to a metal band.

"I had Mr. Welker make it into a bracelet for her. It was on the house, late present for her."

As Grant gave the bracelet to Charlotte, Susan could only wonder what she had meant by "bunny".

"Charlotte, what 'bunny'?"

"Oh, it was a big, yellow bunny rabbit! He had the clangy things on drums for hands, and he had a great big smile! He gave me a present and walked away! I hope I see him again!"

"Grant, what is she talking about? Dee, did you see that bunny?"

"I saw something, but I don't think it was a bunny. It looked more like a clown."

"Oh Grant, you hired a clown? I didn't think any were available!"

"No, I didn't. I don't know what she saw, but she says it just left that rock and bounced."

Dad joke aside, this was only confusing everyone there, Charlotte excluded. This would just be a funny little occurence memorized by that bracelet she would wear on her hand. At least, it would be.

Eventually, the other children, on their birthday, would get a visit from Bunzo. They would get "gifts" such as sticks, lost coins, buttons, pretty much whatever Bunzo could find. Any who doubted Charlotte now fully believed in her.

The parents were befuddled. The few who did see it weren't laughed at, per se, but they were met with great skepticism. Teenagers in town only saw this debate as a joke. Adults were really debating whether a bunny who celebrates birthdays was real? Really? But then again, they debated the existence of a tall, blue man in the woods amongst themselves, so why judge?

Word of the Marching Hare grew and grew among the town, as did supposed sightings of other strange creatures. Was it related? Maybe, but the Bunny seemed like something more.

It had been almost a year since the first party. The date was August 14th, 1996. Little Charlotte Reed was preparing for the Bunny to return. She was turning 5 the next day. Tomorrow would be a great party, she just knew it. She just needed a gift for the special guest.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #cryptid au #cryptids of spielzeit #cryptozoology #cryptids #bunzo #bunzo bunny #poppy playtime bunzo #birthday bunny #marching hare #The Marching Hare #story #short story #writing #original writing #fanfic #AU #do you believe #don't go into the woods

[105nt]

STRIKE WALK THREE

This is the second part. Link to the first part at the end.

The Cuckoo's Calling - Chapter 2

Holland Park Avenue to Denmark Street

Leaving Holland Park we enter what I imagine Charlotte regards as the slum neighborhood of Notting Hill.

Now. I think it's time we deal with the elephant in the room. We assume Strike decides to walk to his office in Denmark Street as this is the cheapest method of travel and his finances are dire. But ...

Just get on the night bus, Strike, you bloody drama llama! You'll be in Tottenham Court Road quicker than you can say Freedom Pass.

It's good he didn't because it's a beautiful morning and I need a walk. Notting Hill Gate becomes Bayswater Road, which always reminds me of Bella, Max, Honey, Bernie and William squeezed in a car arguing about the route in Notting Hill, while Anna Scott is about to get on an aeroplane and leave forever, and also Rhys Ifans calling Hugh Grant "You daft prick" which I am sure is a sentiment many will share.

There's loads of good stuff along here. A convent, the building that housed the Oranjhaven, a statue of the 12th Earl of Meath, who stuck with the name Reginald even though he was an earl with his own plinth and could presumably have afforded something better.

But we're in character so we can't look at any of that. No, we are heartbroken at the demise of our relationship with a woman, which we ended because she's not apparently pregnant with the child we didn't want (I am being tongue-in-cheek, so don't @ me 🤡).

Actually I did wander off because I wanted to know about the church that was mostly demolished due to the ravages of mould. They don't make mould like they used to.

Strike won't have noticed we've reached a nice-looking pub and sign of better days to come. Chin up, Corm. Nearly Robin-o'clock! 😁

Part 1

Part 3

#strike walk #holland park avenue #denmark street #the cuckoo's calling #robert galbraith #cormoran strike

[thestarspangledcaptain]

Who/What I Will Write For!

Warning: Mini Essay Ahead

Please Note: If you are requesting, I would prefer if you gave me the desired pronouns for the reader/character!

What I Can / Would Be Comfortable Writing & Or What Topics I Will Cover:

AUs

Expansion of plot lines

Writing for established couples

Reader inserts

Y/N

OC

Any type of romance trope

Platonic relationships

Sibling relationships

Parent relationships (including certain characters as your parent)

Magical beings

Powers

One shots and multi part imagines

LGBTQIA + characters and readers

LGBTQIA + romance

Plot line changes, time changes

Non canonical couples

Canonical couples

Non canon friendships and canon friendships

Small age gaps (when writing for older characters I will made ages fitting with the character) ex: Tony stark. WARNING: If the age gap makes the characters have a legal adult and minor relationship (w the exception of a senior and junior in high school type of thing)

Certain characters (non lgbtq) in lgbtq relationships. For example Natasha Romanoff is a lesbian relationship.

Writings inspired by a song. (I have written work planned out already)

Any shapes and sizes

Angst

Fluff

More steamy scenes (prob up to third base

More serious topics I will cover:

Mental Illness (Anxiety, Depression, Bipolar, Schizophrenia)

Disabilities (From physical to internal)

Health Issues

Eating Disorders

Self harm

Suicidal thoughts / attempts

Dysmorphia and insecurities

Abusive relationships

Bullying

Surgeries

Fainting

Vomiting (due to ED or illness)

Death

(Car)Accidents

Hospitalization

Sexual assault and rape SURVIVORS and sometimes I may write about a character’s recovery and process of coping with something that traumatic

Therapy

Homophobia

Complicated relationships

Adoption

I will NOT Write anything (no hate to those who enjoy reading some of these things, I just personally would not enjoy writing it or be fully comfortable writing it):

Yandere

Furry related things

Omegaverse

I will absolutely NOT change the sexuality of a character if it is specifically stated (ex. Phastos from Eternals, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Sebastian Smythe, Santana Lopez, America Chavez)

I will NOT write an age gap more than an absolute max of ten years

I will NOT romanticize things in the serious topics I will write for section. They are serious topics and things such as eating disorders are serious, they should not be romanticized. I write things with heavier topics to help people.

Absolutely NO rape scenes

Inappropriate relationships (college student and professor is an absolute no)

smut

I likely won’t redeem people if they’ve done something incredibly evil

Ok here we go! I apologize for the lack of alphabetical order

Avengers/Marvel:

I will for almost any character (mainly excluding some villains)

Any Peter Parker (just request which one you prefer)

X men

Disney:

The princes

Princesses

Big hero six (I will write for hiro exclusively platonically)

Glee:

From Og Cast up to season 4, including Sebastian smythe and warblers

No Sylvester, or schue romance

Harry Potter:

Golden trio

Weasleys

Draco

Cedric

Cho

Luna

Krum

Fleur

Oliver

Seamus

Neville

Young Marauders

Top Gun (+ TG Maverick):

Maverick

Iceman

Goose

Charlotte “Charlie” Blackwood

Rooster

Hangman (I adore Jake seresin)

Bob

Phoenix

Coyote

Payback

Fanboy

Non Romantic character relationships I will write for in the Top Gun world:

Cyclone

Maverick

Penny

Admiral Cain

Admiral Warlock

Descendants:

Mal

Evie

Carlos

Jay

Doug

Ben

Jane

Lonnie

Audrey

Uma

Harry

Gil

Percy Jackson TO:

Percy

Annabeth

Grover

Luke

Clarisse

Nico

Tyson

Characters of the following actors (so if the listed actor portrayed a character I will write):

Grant Gustin

Chris Evans

Chris Pratt

Chris Hemsworth

Darren Criss

Dove Cameron

Scarlett Johansson

Emma Wattson

Jennifer Lawrence

Emma Stone

Margot Robbie

Glenn Powell

Sydney Sweeney

Andrew Garfield

I will update this list as I get reminded of more people. :) Have a great day, you are loved

#writing #top gun fanfiction #fanfic #avengers #bickering #black widow #captain america #mal #carlos de vil #adoption #descendants #evie grimhilde #gleeposting #glee #dc universe #disney #thestarspangledcaptain #peter parker fluff #top gun x reader #y/n #hangman x rooster #lgbtqia #character list #top gun maverick imagine #peter parker x stark!reader #top gun fic #jake seresin x reader #hangman angst #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

To spoil you, Fuegoleon 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 23 and 25 for the ask game (sorry, I went a bit overboard^^')

FUE FUE FUE FUE

(7,8,23 and 25 have already been answered ^^)

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

That he builds people up! He's the definition of a good man in my books, and one with true strength which comes from lifting other up, rather than push them down. If I could be half the woman he is a man, I'd be happy.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

I find these very difficult for some reason, but ... hmmm... actually, I wonder how he'd fit into FMA. I imagine he might get well along with Alexader Armstrong, and would find a talking point about strong older sisters.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

...Maybe? I find having roommates a bit awkward, and it's different from moving together with someone that you are attracted to. I feel like this might get messy, unless we'd both either develop feelings for each other, or not. I could probably be roommates with him, but I also think that it could get messy. I just prefer either living alone, or then with a partner.

12. What’s a headcanon you have for this character?

I headcanon that sometimes, not often, but sometimes, when he is at his lowest, late at night, he ponders about getting back at William. He thinks about what it'd be like, to get some retribution, a sense of justice, even if he'd have to grant it to himself. At the end of the thought, he always concludes it not to be worth it. But the thought lingers. And it occurs to him, from time to time. He deems himself human for having such thoughts, but he also deems himself sensible enough to keep it as just a thought. Even if there might be some that couldn't blame him, if he did.

15. What’s your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn’t matter if it’s canon or not.)

Can... can I say my own? Because I am VERY biased towards it, because it brings me joy. As in, I will support anyone who wants to make an OC ship with him too, but my self-indulgent content is in Fue/Oc content. If not with an OC, then... hmm... Hmm... Maybe... uhh.... Fragil? She's a hard worker and cares about the people around her, but also has a gentle side to her.

17. What’s a ship for this character you don’t hate but it’s not your favorite that you’re fine with?

I once saw someone in passing shipping him with Charlotte? So, perhaps that one? I'm indifferent towards it, so I can't say that I hate it, but it's not my favourite. And I'm fine with it.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I adore his relationship with Mereo. I think that these two have such admiration and respect for one and another, even if Mereo doesn't say it out loud. She's a woman of action, and struggles to give verbal affirmations, but the things that she does say, like "there are people who'd never let me forget it if I was defeated", or along those lines, show that she is thinking about her family, her little brothers and the CLK. She feels that she needs to protect them, but also that she needs to drive them to be strong enough to fend for themselves, if all hell breaks loose. And Fuegoleon, who is very verbal about his admiration for his aneue, clearly adores her. He looks up to her. And to him, Mereo will always be the brilliant older sister, who seems to understand what to do intuitively, whereas he has had to study for it. I just love these two. They have such amazing dynamic, and they fuel each other up, despite the bickering. And the bickering is there, because... they're siblings, and only 2 years apart. Of course they bicker.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn’t matter?

Hmm... I think that him and Randal could actually be really good friends. As in, sure, they've worked together for many years, and judging from the way they interact, I think it'd be safe to say that they are on some level of friendship. But I also think that one of @/cradestoryteller 's fics (if my memory serves me correctly) in her series "100 ways to say 'I love you'", I saw some of that friendship and it really made sense to me. I chose to take the "I love you" as a platonic one, because I believe that it's okay to A. say "I love you" platonically to one's friends (at least in English, because different languages have different connotations when it comes to the word 'love') and B. it's always okay to show that you care about your friends. They're both calm, reasonable and responsible gentlemen, who care for others, so I think that they have a lot in common. They also take time to asses a situation without charging head on. But I feel like Randal might make more jokes. That's not to say that he would be making too many, but relatively more than Fue. So, there'd be a kind of a difference as well. So, I think that Randal is a high contender as Fue's best friend.

#black clover #fuegoleon vermillion #ask game #lovely mutuals

[quotergirl19]

Imagine this Bridgerton season 3 finale:

It’s the last ball of the London season is a masquerade ball being held at a fabulous venue hosted by the season’s most unexpected match: Mr. & Mrs. Colin Bridgerton.

Lady Whistledown herself wrote in the beginning of the season that a match between Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington was so unlikely that if it ever happened, the mysterious author would do the one thing she’s sworn she would never do… reveal herself.

Penelope’s dress is beautiful and she and Colin are the perfect hosts, charming their guests and clearly blissfully in love.

Halfway through the party Penelope has a costume change and re-enters masked in a stunning gown made out of issues of her Whistledown Column for her big reveal to the ton.

It’s presented as the ultimate entertainment for her majesty Queen Charlotte who Penelope and Colin have secretly befriended after confessing to her with the help of Lady Danbury and Violet.

Her majesty then announces that the hosts of this memorable masquerade have been granted protection by the crown for entertaining the ton at the Queen’s request and will henceforth refrain from publishing gossip anymore because they will be busy in their new roles as Lord & Lady Featherington after Lord Jack Featherington drowned at sea while traveling to visit his ruby mines in America.

Photo credit to Lulumoonowlbooks on instagram 💜

#bridgerton #polin #quotergirl mini fic #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #bridgerton season 3 speculation #Polin fic

[demonfox38]

Completed - Shantae: Risky's Revenge

You know what? I did like that Capcom NES "Little Mermaid" game. You would be absolutely right about that.

Round Two of my "Play More Steam Games" year started off rough. Windows 11 sought to be a prima donna, refusing to render anything but a black screen for two of the games from my Steam library. Luckily, all it took was forcing the executables to run in a higher priority mode through System -> Display -> Graphics, but man. That was a two-hour headache I didn't need.

Of the two games I had tested, "Shantae: Risky's Revenge" won out in terms of priority. Granted, had I known what I do now, maybe I would have tabled this one for just a little longer. It wasn't exactly watching "The Empire Strikes Back" before "A New Hope", but it may have been watching "Attack of the Clones" before anything else!

The "Shantae" series in its current incarnation is a set of Metroidvania-styled games starring the titular Shantae, the often hired and fired protector of Scuttle Town (and Sequin Land) at large. When I say "in its current incarnation", I don't mean to imply any gameplay changes. What I am trying to say is that "Shantae" was both simultaneously notable and niche in its first incarnation. Notable, in that even I—some nobody kid from Iowa—knew about this game. Niche, in…well, let's just say poor sales and the general screwed-up state of the second-hand game market has resulted in this:

Dude, I own a physical copy of "Earthbound", and even those prices make me want to scream. Like, we can talk about how it might be wasteful to have companies like Limited Run Games reprint copies of games, but when this second-hand market the alternative…(Also, who do we have to bribe to get "Power Blade 2" re-released? Because JFC on those prices, too.)

Since the ancient days of the Game Boy Color, the Shantae series has had a more consistent game release schedule, cranking out a new Metroidvania about once every 3-5 years. This started with 2010's "Shantae: Risky's Revenge," the sequel to the aforementioned cult classic. In it, Shantae is tasked with securing three magic seals and recovering a stolen lamp from Risky Boots, her arch-nemesis from the previous game. Alongside a Belmont-esque hair whip attack, Shantae is also blessed with the ability to cast spells and transform into various creatures. Granted, given that these powers come to her via being half genie, you can imagine what a problem that stolen lamp just might turn out to be for her…

Originally, this game was released on the Nintendo DSi, a late-stage iteration of the Nintendo DS known for its implementation of a digital shop. Which, uh…I'm guessing isn't operational anymore. The iteration I played was the so-called "Director's Cut", which generally changed menu presentation and character artwork to use higher-resolution images. It seems like it also preserved a bonus mode that was made for an iOS version of the game, which feels a bit more substantial than just updating portraits.

Given the collapse of online shops, it's just lucky this game is available at all. (More reasons to go physical, right? Well, if game publishers ever put a complete product on their cartridges/discs in the modern era, anyway…)

There are two dichotomies in Metroidvania games that aren't often discussed. For me, these are offensive styles and end goals. See, "Metroid" games typically operate via fast ranged gameplay while "Castlevania" takes more methodical strikes, often keeping within slugging distance of its foes (Charlotte Aulin and arguably Shanoa being exemptions.) Extending from that, "Metroid" games are more rewarding for speed than item collection/map completion, while "Castlevania" games tend to reward meeting extensive collecting goals or world exploration. (There are some exceptions here too for the "Metroid" series, but it's usually more about getting tits and TFO than how many lore dumps or missile expansions you left behind.)

I bring this up because I think it helps to explain how I like my particular Metroidvania mixes and how "Shantae: Risky's Revenge" falls into this spread. See, I wouldn't classify myself as a fast gamer. I'll do weird things, and if I want to prove something, I do them as hard as I can. But, generally, I want to experience as much as I can in one go-around. I want my marks to be high in figuring out how to worm into certain locations or call a game director's bullshit. (Looking at you, Igarashi.) I'm not the kind to grind something over and over again until the speed and efficiency of my gameplay makes someone's pants fly off. I mean, I love watching other people do that, but man. I'm just not wired up to be wired. Plus, I've got hundreds of other games that I want to play in my lifetime, so I want to make what may be my only time with a game count.

So, where's "Shantae: Risky's Revenge"?

Fight-wise, this is pretty "Castlevania." Like, I wouldn't classify Shantae as being as robust as a Belmont, but the melee-ranged whipping and magic spells on a limited meter make it pretty clear that she'd fall on the "Castlevania" side of things. Good for me! Mostly. I mean, she doesn't seem to have that movement trick that Alucard et. al have where you can spam attacks at twice the speed intended by hop-slashing, but she's functional.

Girl absolutely needs that hair conditioner, though. Definitely an item worth saving up for!

Goal-wise? The game's making a cake sandwich, and it's really trying its damnedest to eat it. You can receive achievements for just finishing the game, as well as finishing it with all items, finishing it under four hours, and then finishing it both under four hours and with all items. The ending itself doesn't seem to change all that much, which is a bummer, as it ends where most "Metroid" games begin. Frankly, all you get out of it is a different picture after the credits. But, if that's something you want to tackle, boy howdy. You do you.

In terms of difficulty, the game is…honestly, very strange. Like, I was almost tempted to say that this is a good Metroidvania game for beginners, but then I hit the Battle Tower. Holy crap. One of my Tumblr mutuals mentioned that the Battle Tower is where they bailed on the game, and I can't blame them. It's a timed ascent up 10 flights of stairs filled with monster battles and a whopping 2 minutes on the clock. Like, you do get time extenders in pots between fights, but yikes. That's not something you want to deal with when you're playing late at night to recover from your mind-numbing, soul-sucking existence.

Even that tower's difficulty might not be its own fault. I think the UI for the game's shop is not clear or helpful. There's two different currencies the game uses for items (gems and jams), and the latter is not initially defined with great clarity. Like, when you look at this, what do you think this item costs?

It's supposed to be 1 jam, 150 gems. But, I read that as 150 jams. Like, you get maybe a fifth of that in game max. But, when you're trying to be an independent gamer and not reading guides, that measurement can be very confusing. It should really be 1🫙150 💎, if you're going to involve icons in the mix.

Do your chemistry teacher a favor, alright? Keep your units straight.  

Outside of my computation issues with the shop, I found some of the later levels' platforming to be daunting. Like, I don't know how to say this without sounding weird, but I like Metroidvania games because they generally are more forgiving about platforming than a standard game. You fell? Oh, well. Just don't land in the acid or lava or spikes, and you can try again. Maybe chug some health potions. Here? It's a bit more on "Zelda" rules, so failure isn't the worst it could possibly be. It's just with as many fiddly, narrow platforms as the game throws at you, damage can add up really quickly.

Also, those Monkey Bullet puzzles are exercises in frustration. Slippery friction + precise square navigation = screaming monkey time.

One last weird note I made was on the game's achievement system. I'm fairly certain I got two achievements that I did not meet the criteria for receiving ("Tinkercide" and "Speed Run the Baron's Lair!") Which, hell. I guess if something is given in the favor of the player, why should I bitch? It just seems weirdly implemented.

Screw those two achievements regarding withholding a puppy from an NPC and hurting it, though. Surely, the game can find something better for me to do. Like, collect cats. Another mermaid shooting gallery. Hell, we're halfway to an "Ecco" game. Give me some hoops to jump through!  

It is lucky for the game that it is pretty damn unique and cute, at least in terms of style. Like, the character portraits are mid 2000s Flash animation quality, so eh there, but the sprites themselves are quite lovely. Everything is brightly colored and has a pleasant bounce to its movement. Looking at older "Shantae" footage, it seems like a lot of the animation style was preserved from the GBC game, which I imagine is a lovely touch for fans of the original game.

Sequin Land is a pretty cool setting as well. Like, my issues with this game aside, I can see why the "Shantae" games have become a solid franchise over the past decade. It's got a playful charm to it, something akin to what I grew up with in the 90s in terms of Arabian fantasy. The inclusion of the undead as a staple is a bit strange, but it's played with very well. It's the kind of game that makes you wonder if the link between zombification, civility, and coffee has something to do with adenosine receptors. I mean, I'm not a neurologist, but a part of me wants to take that joke about making coffee for zombies a little too far. It's a weird kind of inspiration, but you've gotta take it where you can get it!

Additionally, the transformation gimmick is simpler to set up than in the previous game. All it is here is holding a button down to cycle through animations until you get the one you need. I'm a simple woman. Give me a game where you can turn into a mermaid, and I'll find my own joy in it. I can bitch about the fiddliness of that monkey all day, but the mermaid? Yeah. Fine by me. (The elephant's okay too, I guess. At least it's good about keeping the undead dead!) 

I'm glad that the "Shantae" series made it past this game. Between the structural issues for "Risky's Revenge" and a bummer of an ending (regardless of your skill, mind you!), it would be a shame if this was the end of the run for Shantae. There are cool portions to it, but man, I can't really recommend it. The writing goes from juvenile to depressing, and the difficulty oscillates quite a bit, so I don't know who the audience for this would be other than previously existing "Shantae" fans. Theoretically, this could have been a great Metroidvania starter for preteens. But, man. I can't see many having the gumption to tough out shooting monkey puzzles and surprise speed-run segments.

Like, don't get me wrong. I've got "Shantae and the Pirate's Curse" downloaded and ready to go for later on. (Risky's not the only vindictive bitch here.) I just don't know if I'd be right up to bat for this particular title. I mean, if you get it as a gift or for under five USD, okay. File it under the "gift horse" idiom. But, I wouldn't go over $8.00 at the very least. I don't want to be one of those pricks that have a dedicated price point for each hour of a game, but I think a dollar an hour here is a fair estimate of overall value. And I got my first (and possibly only) run done in under 8 hours, so there you go. Value calculated.

Which isn't what this game's store owner did! BOOM! LAST MINUTE DRAG ON THE STUPID STORE USER INTERFACE!

Okay, I'm done. 

#post game evaluation #shantae: risky's revenge #I got super distracted by Palworld so this is getting posted later than usual...

[claireofluxembourg]

The anon's not wrong. LP's are binding and have the value of law, but their existence, use and application is solely at the discretion of the Monarch, as the fount of all royalty and nobility. ( this is not the case with peerages who, once granted, can only be taken away by Parliament according to the TDA).

Did AL become princes of the UK the second Charles became monarch? Yes, but that in no way means that Charles was bound to leave it that. LPs are not law to him; they are simply the expression of one monarch's desire, to which he may or may not have acquiesced.

PPl are right when they say being titled princes is their birthright, but it's not that he couldnt have decided against it or made changes. We have seen changes being made to the convention, first for George and all of W's kids- purely at the discretion of TQ- and then with Charlotte, but in her case parliamentary assent was needed from every place TQ was Sovereign because it changed the law of succession by eliminating male primogeniture. And we also didnt see changes to them- the famous case of the Wessex children. They are not titled and styled as royalty because TQ wanted them not to be and that was sufficient. No LP was issued and the assent of the Wessex was a formality (like imagine saying nah, fam, we good). And it was also the case for the former duchess of Gloucester. After the duke died and Bridgette became TDG TQ allowed her to title and style herself as princess (Princess Alice) even though she wasnt entitled; no LP was ever issued because TQ's will was enough. [Other changes include styling Anne and Charles when TQ was just PE; Anne however is usually dragged in this discussion but all she was offered was a peerage for Phillips, which would have resulted in the kids being styled as the children of an Earl, not a royal Earl, and therefore outside the scope of the LP convention].

Both can be perfectly true. AL were "legally" princes of the UK the second grandpa ascended, but it would also have been perfectly possible (and still would be, in theory) for C to have said/say no, you arent, in which case his word would have been sufficient. Changes have happened in UK history, HRH princes became HH or vice versa, ppl who were had the prince status taken away, and whatever, and it wasnt a punishment or in accordance with parliament or anything like that. Charles isnt compelled one way or another. So again, did he just do what the applicable rule says? Totes. Did he have to? Niet. Could he change the rules? Yes, ppl were actually expecting it. Could the rule act retroactively? Actually yes, no problem (obvs big practical problem, but not legal problem). Hell, even the clarification from BP yesterday night that the kids cant use the HRH either because their father's title - but not the York's HRH- is in abeyance is a very interesting novelty.

Sorry for the wall of text, I've seen so much bs spilled yesterday on this it hurt me in my nerdy spirit.

I think it all falls in the category of personal feelings. A lot of people don’t like the Sussexes and are projecting those feelings towards this situation. They don’t really care about the LP and the lack of titles. They only care about punishing the Sux.

[ingek73]

Harry and the Press: Read All About It?

A prince of the realm taking on Britain’s biggest newspapers is surely newsworthy? Not if you’re a reader of one of these titles, writes Liz Gerard

Liz Gerard

24 May 2023

In the 45 days from 28 March to 12 May, members of the Royal Family featured on our national newspaper front pages 320 times. These appearances included 133 photographs and 82 lead stories.

What do you expect? you might ask. We’ve just had a Coronation for the first time in 70 years. And we can all pledge allegiance to the new King. And Kate had a go at climbing a wall. And Charlotte had a birthday. And Louis wore blue. And some of them went to the pub and drank beer or a gin and tonic. And Camilla’s a jolly good egg. And Meghan is self-centred. And Harry…

Ah yes, Harry.

Harry flew in from America twice during that period. Once to make a brief appearance at the Coronation; and once to attend the High Court, where he has launched three cases, accusing the Mail, the Sun and the Mirror of illegal breaches of privacy.

He was joined in his case against the Mail by Baroness Lawrence, Elton John, David Furnish, Sadie Frost, Liz Hurley and Simon Hughes. Only Hurley and Hughes were missing from court on day one – 27 March. Quite a big deal, you might have thought. Five very big names, including a royal prince, appearing in court in person to sue our most popular news brand. Imagine the sort of coverage that turnout would have achieved were they taking on the BBC rather than the Mail.

So how many of those 320 front-page items did this four-day hearing account for? Six – almost all on the first day.

The Times and Telegraph both had a main photograph of Harry with a caption explaining why he was in the country; the i and Mirror had puffs – the i referring to the court case, the Mirror ignoring that altogether in favour of the King being too busy to see his son. The Guardian also had Harry as the main picture, alongside a splash that focused on Baroness Lawrence’s assertion that she felt betrayed by the Mail – which has made great capital over the years from its pursuit of her son’s murderers.

But the case was covered inside, wasn’t it? Up to a point, Lord Copper.

The Times, i and Telegraph had page leads. The first two focused on the allegations against the Mail; the Telegraph – in common with the other papers that carried anything at all – went on the line that Harry wouldn’t be seeing Dad while he was here. The Mail, which had described the lawsuits as “a pre-planned and orchestrated attempt to draw it into the phone-hacking scandal” and the allegations as “preposterous smears”, ploughed its own furrow with a page five lead headlined ‘Key witness says hacking claims “false”‘. A private investigator who had told the plaintiffs’ lawyers 18 months earlier that he had acted illegally on behalf of the Mail – “hacking phones, tapping landlines and bugging cars” – had now produced another signed statement retracting it all.

The paper’s owner, Associated, wanted the case thrown out, arguing, among other things, that it was based on material given in confidence to the Leveson Inquiry and because it was out of time. It also applied for anonymity for its journalists “in order to prevent distinguished journalists having their reputations destroyed in the event that the case never proceeds to full trial”. The granting of this application was phrased as “the judge quickly awarded victory to the Mail”. Somehow the factoid that it had been made under the auspices of human rights legislation – which the Mail has repeatedly said should be repealed – did not make it into print.

So much for day one. If Baroness Lawrence was a tasty starter, day two brought a seriously meaty main course in the form of Prince Harry’s witness statement. There were two central features:

The Royal Family had known about phone-hacking, he said, but didn’t tell him and did nothing about it for fear of opening a can of worms. There was even, he said, a private agreement with the Murdoch papers not to “engage or even discuss” the possibility of bringing claims against them until the hacking litigation was over.

His assertion that he had decided to sue Associated because “if the most influential newspaper company can evade justice… the whole country is doomed”. The statement continued: “I am bringing this claim because I love my country and I remain deeply concerned by the unchecked power, influence and criminality of Associated. The evidence I have seen shows that Associated’s journalists are criminals with journalistic powers which should concern every single one of us. The British public deserve to know the full extent of this cover-up and I feel it is my duty to expose it.”

Wow. Just a reminder that this is a statement by a royal prince in documents to the High Court – not a barb thrown out by some bloke in the pub. And he was there, in the flesh, to hear his words read out.

It may be that it shows, as the Mail attests, that he is obsessed. But it surely merits reporting. Apparently not on page one. Only one title – the i – had any mention of the case or Harry’s allegations on the cover, and that as a small puff. The Times had a new portrait of the King, the Telegraph told readers that Charles would be dining with his cousins in Germany. Even the Guardian was too busy with its mea culpa on its founder’s links to slavery.

Most papers ran page leads inside, although the i and The Times did not mention the alleged pact with its stablemates at News Group Newspapers (the Sun and News of the World’s parent company) or Harry’s explanation of why he was suing. As to the two titles whose owners have paid out millions in hacking damages to prevent hundreds of other cases going to court: the Mirror managed five paragraphs in a small single on the royals knowing about hacking; the Sun nothing.

And the Mail? Not a word of those key elements from the Harry witness statement. Instead, it led its spread on its own statement, building on the private investigator’s recantation, with a panel on the side with his “point by point” rebuttals of the claims against Associated. It’s one thing to get your retaliation in first, but this took one-sided reporting to another level.

Harry’s next action, which he watched by video-link, started on 25 April to take on the Sun, which – like the Mail – has always denied phone-hacking. This time his central claim was even more sensational: that News Group Newspapers owners had paid Prince William “a very large sum of money” as part of a private settlement to stop him suing for hacking.

This time the story made the splash for the Guardian and for the Telegraph, which “understood” that the figure was about £1 million. But its headline wasn’t the ‘Prince’s £1m phone hacking deal’ you might have expected, but that the claim had “left Coronation peace hopes in tatters”. There was, however, a spread inside as well, which was more than anyone else did.

The Times had a page lead and the Express a chunky story on its Coronation spread. But the Mail had just a small single-column on page 10 that started “Prince Harry has dragged William into his war on the British press”. The Sun and the Mirror ran nothing. Royal developments deemed worthy of front-page coverage included a chocolate bust of the King and his resistance to having Heathrow’s Terminal 5 named after him.

There was more interest the next day, after the judge said he was troubled by “factual inconsistencies” in Harry’s story, with more prominent coverage, including a small story in the Mirror (albeit on a different angle) and an early righthand page lead in the Mail.

As with the case against the Mail, third day coverage was more limited – the angle this time being actor Hugh Grant’s claim that stars’ homes were burgled at the Sun’s behest. For the third successive day, the case made the front of the Guardian, a page lead for The Times – and not a single word in the Sun. The Mail may have skewed coverage of its own case for the defence, but at least it was there. The Sun, whose lawyers wanted the case dismissed as out of time, just pretended it wasn’t happening and ignored it altogether.

Harry’s next homecoming was what the Mail called his “blink and you’ve missed it” trip for the Coronation. He may have gone back to California swiftly after the ceremony, but he hadn’t finished with the courts. For just under a week later, on 10 May, a third case started – against Mirror Group Newspapers. And this time it wasn’t a preliminary hearing, but a proper trial, expected to last seven weeks. Harry wasn’t in court for the opening speeches, but was lined up to give evidence, possibly for as long as three days, in June.

The two key features of the first day was MGN’s admission of, and apology for, a single instance of illegal information gathering – by the People – that it said was worthy of compensation, and the assertion by lawyer David Sherborne that it was “inconceivable” that Piers Morgan was unaware of phone-hacking under his editorship. This claim had been made in one of the previous cases and was, indeed, the subject of two identical Guardian front page headlines.

Morgan – a former Editor of the News of the World and the Daily Mirror who now presents a show on Rupert Murdoch’s Talk TV and writes a column for the Sun – had (coincidentally?) just recorded an interview with the BBC’s Amol Rajan in which he was asked about hacking on his watch. He said he didn’t know how to hack a phone (even though he had written about it in his autobiography and is reported to have explained how to do it to a Tony Blair aide), and that he was unaware that hacking had been going on at his papers. He also declared that he wasn’t going to take lectures on privacy from Harry and Meghan, who had, he said, constantly invaded the Royal Family’s privacy.

What did our papers make of all that? Apart from the Guardian, only the i and Telegraph had anything on the front, in each case a puff. The i took the ‘Morgan knew’ line, while the Telegraph went with ‘Morgan mocks Duke’. The FT had the earliest inside coverage with a five-column page two story headlined “Mirror accused of industrial scale illegality”. Everyone else pushed the story back as far as they dared. The Sun, Express, Mirror and Star all went on the apology, while The Times and Mail both majored on the defence line that stories Harry claimed were the result of hacking had in fact been fed to journalists by members of his family and royal courtiers.

As for declarations of interest, The Times mentioned Morgan’s current role with Talk TV and listed Harry’s other cases against the press, but did not note that News Group Newspapers shared its ultimate ownership by News Corp. The Mail also mentioned its own case in its coverage. The Sun did not say that it, too, was being sued by Harry. The Express quoted a Mirror spokesman as saying “MGN is now part of a very different company” but did not add that that company was Reach, owners of the Express (and Star).

Only the Guardian, The Times and Mail bothered to print anything about day two of this trial, when Sherborne told the court that Morgan “lies at the heart” of the claims. The Times and Mail both led on the Mirror contentions that stories put down to hacking might have been leaked by a palace aide or the result of an interview with Harry. The Guardian went on Morgan “approving” the illegal blagging of Prince Michael of Kent’s bank details. The reporter allegedly given the assignment was Gary Jones, now Editor of the Express. The Times and Mail did not include this in their stories; the Express ran nothing on the case that day.

But nobody reads print newspapers any more. Dead tree news is dead. People get their news online. So what about live coverage on the day the Mirror trial started?

Broadcasters featured it prominently; independent websites ran live feeds. The Times, FT, Independent, Guardian and Telegraph all had it among the top four stories online. But scroll as far as you could on the Sun, Mail and Mirror home pages and you would find not a word. Click on the ‘royals’ or ‘celebrities’ tabs and you’d find Kate and George and Charlotte and Sophie, and more Sussex bad-mouthing, but nothing on the trial. Only by searching ‘Harry and High Court’ did the Mail offer agency reports of the case on a page called ‘wires’, which has no tab or link from the home page. This is what you call burying bad – or inconvenient – news.

By day 45 of this little snapshot, not one single national newspaper had presented to its readers a full and fair account of any of the proceedings in the High Court.

The Times and Telegraph came closest, but the rest were either partisan, deliberately blind or uninterested. The Guardian, which of course uncovered and doggedly pursued the phone-hacking scandal from 2009 and blew the whole thing open with its Milly Dowler bombshell in 2011, played the cases up, while most of the others tried to play them down.

When you have such high-profile litigants taking on the country’s biggest news brand – actually accusing its journalists of being criminals – it is worthy of proper attention. When you have a royal prince claiming that the heir to the throne accepted £1 million in hush money to stop him taking the second-biggest news brand to court, it is worthy of proper attention. When you have the King’s son accusing one of the country’s most prominent television presenters of overseeing industrial scale law-breaking, it is worthy of proper attention.

There are those who accuse the British press of a culture of omertà, a reluctance to acknowledge, let alone confront, malpractice within the ‘club’, even by rivals. They will be able to cite the Harry coverage in support of that complaint. Regardless of whether they are right, this widespread refusal to face challenges to our industry is troubling. But more so is the fact that it raises the question: if reporting of these cases is so unreliable, what does it say about what we are served on everything else?

Meanwhile, the vilification of Harry and his wife continues apace. The day after the Coronation, the anti-Brexit author Edwin Hayward tweeted that he had logged more than 100 negative stories about the couple on the Express website in the space of 72 hours.

These papers know full well that the press has hounded Harry since boyhood and that he blames the tabloids for the death of his mother. But now they brush all that aside as ‘other people’ and ‘all in the past’. It is absolutely in all of their interests to discredit the prince as he stands up to them in court – and they are doing their damnedest to avoid letting their readers know why.

This is an extract from ‘Royal Reporting: The Media and the Monarchy’ edited by John Mair and Andrew Beck. It will be published by MGM Books on 1 June

#prince harry #byline times #phone hacking trial #uk tabloids

[lillianofliterature]

about me. . .

Lillian, 23, she/her, panromantic asexual, pots, adhd, infp, 2w1

follower of Jesus, friend to bugs, obsessed with dinosaurs

aspiring author, fanfic writer, jewelry maker & paleoartist

what i’m typing. . .

REQUESTS

"silver fox”, terry silver x younger!reader [age gap] [mini series]

ONE-SHOTS/MINI SERIES

“extending hospitality”, obi-wan kenobi x reader [part three] [mini series conclusion] ON HIATUS

“reflections of the heart”, severus snape x reader [mini series]

“the guilt of seven graves”, severus snape x reader [one-shot] [dark content warning]

"of gits and glowers", severus snape x reader [one-shot]

links and resources. . .

main masterlist

imagines/preferences masterlist

request guidelines

my spotify (including character themed playlists and povs)

characters i obsess over. . .

alan grant, aragorn, august booth, beetlejuice, beorn, bofur, bruno madrigal, daniel larusso, data soong, din djarin, dwalin, eddie munson, elrond, frodo baggins, george of the jungle, haldir, heimdall, jack sparrow, jareth, johnny lawrence, killian jones, loki, obi-wan kenobi, remus lupin, rick o'connell, rumplestiltskin/mr. gold, severus snape, silco, spencer shay, spock, tarrant hightopp, terry silver, thranduil, tyrion lannister

ariel, arya stark, brienne of tarth, danaerys targaryen, emma swan, frankie bernstein, jinx, katniss everdeen, leia organa, merida, mulan, natasha romanoff, regina mills, sansa stark, zelena

my fandoms. . . 

TV/SERIES:

once upon a time, outlander, arcane, star trek (tos, tng, voy, pic), stargate (sg-1, atlantis, universe), cobra kai, game of thrones, good omens, our flag means death, the last of us, the clone wars, the mandalorian, the book of boba fett, the falcon and the winter soldier, loki, avatar: the last airbender, the legend of korra, grace and frankie, the waltons, matlock, sherlock, icarly, 2000s nickelodeon/disney channel shows

MOVIES:

the hobbit, the lord of the rings, harry potter, the chronicles of narnia, star wars, star trek, marvel/mcu, jurassic park/world, pirates of the caribbean, the karate kid (I-III), labyrinth, hunt for the wilderpeople, sense and sensibility (1995), alice in wonderland (2010), finding neverland (2004), the phantom of the opera (2004), beetlejuice, the nightmare before christmas, the little mermaid, emperor’s new groove, tinker bell, and a gazillion more 

BOOKS:

the hunger games, the hobbit, the lord of the rings, the true confessions of charlotte doyle, percy jackson series, the selection series, anything austen or brontë, and a lot of heckin’ good fanfiction

WEBTOONS/COMICS:

lore olympus, let’s play, midnight in poppy land, the wolfman of wulvershire, suitor armor, he’s harmless i swear, the first night with the duke, the remarried empress, tricked into becoming the heroine’s stepmother, subzero, what’s up beanie, not even bones, my gently raised beast, your throne, madame outlaw, the wrath & the dawn, forever after, siren’s lament, eaternal nocturnal, age matters, of swamp & sea, lady knight, house of stars, archie comics: big ethel energy, blood stain, punderworld, i love yoo, brass & sass, miss widow, and even more (obviously I’m obsessed with them)

VIDEO GAMES:

animal crossing: new horizons, animal crossing: new leaf, animal crossing: city folk, breath of the wild, the wind waker, jedi fallen order, the last of us (I & II), any and all lego games, and more!

MUSIC/GENRES:

film scores/soundtracks, musicals, reggae, alternative/indie, celtic punk, celtic music, various independent instrumentals/composers, folk rock, 70s/80s rock, indie folk, pop, and a sprinkle of everything else (I listen to almost every genre, it just depends on what my soul needs in the moment! music is so cathartic, i’m almost always listening to it)

james newton howard, howard shore, bear mccreary, rachel portman, anne dudley, alexandre desplat, john powell, john williams, harry gregson-williams, mark isham, bob marley & the wailers, jack johnson, dave matthews band, red house painters, iron & wine, cat stevens, daft punk, adele, lord huron, fleetwood foxes, dodie, birdy, avril lavigne, priscilla ahn, AND SO MANY MORE! (i freaking love music)

if you want to know more or chat about any shared fandoms or inquire about unlisted fandoms or interests, just dm me!

#meet the author #meet the fanfic author #meet the writer #welcome to my blog #welcome to my tumblr #fandoms #fanfics #about me

[belschine]

Hi! Tumblr crashed when I tried to answer this properly so I’m gonna try with a proper text post under the cut instead.

To keep things simpler I’m gonna separate mental/emotional exhaustion and physical exhaustion/injury. I’ve been having a long day (or week, or month...) so please forgive me if I forget someone, although I’m not doing the non-canon characters

Physical rating

Trevor > Simon > John > Shanoa > Jonathan > Julius > Grant > Hector > Charlotte and Eric > Christopher > Juste > Richter > Alucard > Maria

Trevor lost an eye and that chest scar of his looks like it should’ve killed him, Simon just got cursed, John’s having his life sapped away by the Vampire Killer.

I imagine that Dominus, even though it didn’t kill Shanoa, probably still took a toll on her.

Jonathan, if he uses the VK, is probably less hurt by it than his father thanks to ‘proving himself’ to Sara with that cool mental battle with Richter. I still don’t think it’s completely harmless, though, but that’s just how I feel about it and not canonically stated anywhere.

In 1999 Julius is the strongest Belmont and perhaps the strongest just normal human out there, but I feel like the very last battle Drac could put on would be the most vicious. I also loosely headcanon (as in I believe it but if it’s too inconvenient I will roll with something else) that he used a modified version of the Dominus spell - explaining his amnesia and giving a good reason to the complete, permanent destruction of Dracula’s body than just “it was prophesied” - so the Shanoa thing applies to him too somewhat.

Grant just spent probably like 3 months or so going from staging a rebellion to getting transformed into a monster to joining another rebellion and winning that time. Good for him! But that sounds exhausting.

Hector’s awesome and badass but he does still seem to eat shit a lot. Sorry, Hector. Charlotte is noted to be a really powerful witch, and Eric seems pretty tough. It’s been a really long time since I’ve played Bloodlines, since before the whole fax fiasco went down, so I’m not 100% on that one.

Christopher, Juste and Richter are pretty self-explanatory - they’re Belmonts, and the Belmonts get more powerful with each generation. Juste and Richter’s damage is mostly emotional, so we’ll get to that. I don’t have any thoughts on Christopher in the physical category beyond this either.

Alucard’s not human, so he’s got a leg up somewhat, but in SotN specifically it’s also notable that Dracula appears to stand down after Alucard passes on Lisa’s last words rather than be killed by Alucard’s hand directly.

Maria is fine. She’s 12 so she could fall off a building and walk away. You know how it is to be 12

Mental/emotional rating

Alucard in 1476 > John and Simon > Maria > Julius > Alucard in 1999, Grant, Trevor and Sypha > Jonathan and Charlotte (?) > Hector > Juste > Richter > Christopher > Eric > Alucard in 1797

Shanoa just lost her brother and left a cult, but things are looking up for her now that it’s over and she’s experiencing catharsis, so I’m not sure where to put her on a scale for that. Honestly she simultaneously fits at both ends in my mind.

Alucard in 1476 is obviously bad. He more or less goes out of the situation committing the closest thing to suicide he can get as a vampire.

John and Simon probably both know they’re going to die.

Maria is definitely not going to think about it for a long time but what she’s been through would have messed up an adult, let alone a child. She also just lost her parents so. Yeah.

Julius may have forgotten everything, but his dialogue in Aria suggests he still has PTSD over it anyway. As if amnesia wasn’t enough!

Alucard in 1999 is at the point where it’s like, at least it’s fucking over, but also I assume he’s left to believe Julius is dead and has been left to grieve his friend. Grant, Trevor, and Sypha are likewise grieving Alucard, an interesting inversion of this... *chuck supernatural voice* CIRCULAR NARRATIVE

Jonathan and Charlotte are grieving and stuff but it’s a cathartic experience too I think I havent played Portrait in so long I’m sorry. I need to get on the grind again maybe over winter break. In my defense I also got lead poisoning since the last time I played it which did make me forget a lot of other things from that time period as well (I’m ok ^_^’)

Hector is still grieving his wife and his revenge was kind of pointless and doesn’t actually make anyone feel better. But he made a friend.

Juste just nearly had to kill his best friend. He didn’t in the end, which is great! But still a really stressful thing to go through. He’s clearly agitated and upset about it. He also lies to Lydie about what happened, likely to try to protect Maxim, given his own family’s history of being driven to the fringes of society due to their power.

Richter was absolutely fucked over from fighting Dracula, but I think in the end things would’ve been worse for him if he hadn’t. He was socialized to believe it was what he existed for either way, and the second it’s over he’s basking in the glory of victory... For but a moment. Needless to say, it doesn’t last.

Christopher is like... whatever in his first time around I guess, but fighting your 15 year old kid has got to suck. Even if I do think he probably wasn’t a great dad to lead to that outcome

I honestly don’t know where to put Eric on this he’s just chilling I think. I have the same excuse for Bloodlines inaccuracy as for Portrait I’m sorry

Alucard’s conversation with his dad in SotN was probably really cathartic for him, even if he does try to go back to his old ways as soon as the fight’s over and kill himself again - there’s something to be said about how recovery is harder than continuing to perpetuate your own misery, and Dracula continuing to oppose humanity in all his resurrections after 1797 is a testament to this. So they’re kind of parallels when you think about it!

#castlevania #asks